Professions
by skittles84
Summary: Seventh Installment. Even the most complex things in the world can be broken down and understood; Professor Rachel Berry knows this better than most people - perhaps even better than most scientists working in her field. When it comes to more practical matters, science cannot explain everything. Maybe her housekeeper, Quinn Fabray, can help make things crystal clear.
1. Chapters

**As Rachel is losing herself in her favorite books, Quinn is feeling lost in a different way. Though they have never met, circumstances are about to change, and a new chapter in their lives is about to unfold. First installment of what may become a collection. **

**Professions - Chapters - Librarian/Author**

**Thank you for coming to check out this story. Chapters is an AU one-shot that I hope to make into a collection of 12 over the year (if there is enough interest). The stories would not be related other than all being Faberry and featuring them in different professions. I'm attempting to branch into writing 'smut' more competently, (why, I do not know, but it's what I seem to struggle with most) so if this one-shot goes well, then there may be many more to come. **

* * *

**Chapters**

Rachel sighed as she slipped her paperback copy of Lucy Lablanc's A Salty Shore into her purse. The library director did not approve of employees reading during their down time, which seemed a little bizarre, and she was having a hard time putting the book down. There had barely been enough light to read by on her walk to work and now she stood at the employee entrance to the Lima Public Library Building, crisp snow crunching as she approached the door. The brunette sighed again as she fished in her pocket for her keys; she was always the first employee to arrive and had been there the longest ten years, counting the year she did volunteer work during high school, so she knew the building as though it were her own home. The fluorescent lights hummed as she flipped every switch on her way to the employee lounge to clock in. The petite girl chirped a hello, which went unanswered as usual, as she collected the day's bulletins from the director's desk. Rachel missed their old director, Mr. Schuester, who had retired; most of her coworkers had assumed that when he stepped down, she would have been first in line, but the county had brought in their current director without even posting the position. It wasn't all bad; things certainly were more efficient now, if not a little impersonal, and late return books were now a thing of the past. Rachel continued flipping switches and opening blinds as she made her way to the front desk, leaving her coat and purse on her usual chair, and made her way to the main cork board marked Upcoming Events. The director came sprinting from her office when the brunette let out a high pitched squeal.

"Did that squirrel get back in here?" her boss shouted, holding a fly swatter over her head as though she were wielding a sword.

The brunette was briefly tempted to point the director off in several directions, but instead shrugged and shook her head.

"No," Rachel said sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I was just excited by an upcoming event. I'm really very sorry Miss Sylvester."

"This is a library, Berry," Sue scowled, "for Pete's sake pull yourself together. I assume it's our guest author for January. The one you've been wetting your panties over for, what is it, five books now?"

"I'm currently on book four," the brunette corrected instinctively before promising, "I'm deeply sorry, I didn't intend to startle you. I assure you it won't happen again."

"It'd better not," The director grumbled. "And stop talking like that. People come to a library to feel smart. What's the point if you're always sounding smarter than them?"

By the time Rachel had finished pinning up all the current events, Tina had arrived and was starting up the computer system and sorting book requests. The girl had been there nearly as long as the brunette; they didn't know each other well in high school, but they were very close now. The girl'd had a terrible stutter as a teen, which she still seemed to slip into whenever she had a particularly trying patron or spoke to the director, but it completely vanished when she talked to Rachel and most other people. The brunette waved hello as she made her way to the main entrance and unlocked the doors, her steps a little lighter than before.

Over the next few weeks, Rachel found herself less bothered by the pet peeves that came with working in a library: randomly moved and discarded books, the slings shot at her by her ill-tempered boss, patrons that asked inane questions like "how much does it cost to rent books here?" or "do you have books and stuff here?". She couldn't remember a time when she felt more excited, but as the final week drew closer, her excitement gave way to nervousness. The brunette couldn't help but imagine all the ways she might slip up or embarrass herself in front of her favorite author.

"Are you a librarian?" a blonde girl asked.

"Yes." Rachel tried to smile and not sound condescending.

"But you're not wearing glasses," the girl pointed out in a confused tone.

"What can I help you with?" The brunette sighed.

"Do you have computers?" the blonde asked. "I need to look up feline rehab facilities, but the laptop I got for Christmas turned out to be an aquarium."

Rachel glanced down at the sign on the desk that pointed to the computer room and then back to the girl, who didn't seem to be getting the hint, before snapping, "Right through there."

"Are you okay?" Tina asked.

"I'm fine," the brunette replied. "Really."

"You seem a little less cheerful this week," her friend continued.

"I'm just excited," the petite girl snapped again. "I'm sorry. Sue put me in charge of everything to do with this month's meet the author because quote 'I wouldn't touch those pre-stickied books with a ten foot pole' end quote. It just has me so worried that I'm going to mess up or embarrass myself somehow, not to mention the added work of it all. I'm so tired by time I get home, I'm barely able to accomplish anything. I'm even behind on reading A Slippery Slope. How can I possibly host the meet the author of Lucy Lablanc when I have been unable to finish her latest book?"

Rachel rested her head on the cool surface of the counter and sighed again.

"I can tell you how it ends," her coworker suggested.

"Don't you dare!" the brunette squeaked, earning her a loud shush from the director's office. "Besides, I didn't think you read her books."

"Not since half way through her second one, A Sultry Summer," Tina quipped. "But I can still tell you how it ends."

With that, her coworker took a deep breath and batted her eyes comically before speaking in the wispiest voice she could muster. "Brittany wiped off and forced her legs back together; she looked back at Bertrand, her breast still heaving from their lusty afternoon, but she knew in her heart this was not where she was meant to be."

"I'm perfectly aware that you are not a fan," Rachel tried unsuccessfully to shush her friend.

"Perhaps her passions lie with Hugo, the strapping young artist from Venezuela, or between the thighs of Tristan, the dark and brooding dock working she met in London all those years ago. Her loins compelled her…" Tina continued gleefully.

"If you're not going to be helpful, I'm done talking to you," the brunette said briskly, standing up to walk away. "I have work to do."

"Wait!" Her friend giggled. "Don't you want to hear more about her loins?"

"Shush," Rachel pleaded. "This is a library."

"I want to hear more about her loins," the blonde from before suddenly spoke.

Rachel couldn't help but laugh at the look of panic on Tina's face as she walked away. She could already hear the girl stammering an apology; no matter how many times the brunette had tried to explain the subplots and higher points of the books to her friends, no one seemed to understand what she was talking about. It was true the series could be classified as trashy romance novels, but the girl felt there was so much more to the novels that no one else seemed to be picking up. Lablanc was trying to say more, she was sure of it.

* * *

Quinn paused at the large double doors of the Lima Public Library Building and took a deep breath. It was only the third stop on the tour her manager had set up—more insisted on—and she was already weary of the whole ordeal. The blonde was tired of the traveling, and fans, and being Lucy Lablanc—almost as tired of the tour as she was of writing the series altogether.

Jess held the door open for her and motioned her in. "Time is money."

Quinn was tired of hearing that as well; it seemed to be his motto, and he always seemed to say it just when she was about to collect herself and be settled again.

"And watch your eyes this time," he grumbled in her ear as she passed. "We don't roll our eyes at our number one fans—no matter how inane they are."

He was referring to a particularly annoying fan at the last stop, who had squealed nearly nonstop through her entire speech and looked as though she might very well piss her very expensive designer leggings when Quinn had signed her book. The girl hadn't moved forward after the book was signed, but had instead plopped a large stack of twenties on the table and began explaining how much it would mean to her to be cameo-ed in the next book. Her manager had kissed up to her as though she were a Hollywood starlet and had assured her it would be Miss Lablanc's honor to have such a classic character to brighten the background somewhere in the next novel. Maybe Miss Lablanc would, but Quinn Fabray certainly wouldn't.

"How am I supposed to watch my eyes, Jesse?" the blonde joked. "What am I watching them with exactly?"

"How about you watch them with your paycheck, my dear?" he retorted smoothly.

"Just mine or will yours be watching as well?" Quinn sighed.

"Mine is always watching, Lucy dear." Jesse laughed. "Now it's show time. Smile."

Quinn braced herself as a petite brunette approached them with a large beaming smile, followed by an older blonde woman whose face reflected about the way she felt right now, and put on a soft and sincere looking smile.

"Welcome, Miss Lablanc," the young woman said brightly. "I hope your trip here was pleasant. My name is Rachel Berry, I'll be your host for the event, and this is our library director, Sue Sylvester. We are so pleased that you chose the Lima Public Library as part of your tour. Is there anything I can get you? We have bottled water at your table and podium, but I could get you some juice, tea, coffee, or anything else you might need from our café."

"And I'm Jesse St. James, her manager. Miss Lablanc is fine; we always bring our own extras with us," Jesse assured her as he held up a small travel case and a hanging garment bag. "If you could direct us to a place for her to change?"

"Oh," Rachel cleared her throat, "I'm sorry; I assumed you were already—I mean you both look so professional already. There is a large bathroom on the second floor."

"Follow me; Miss Berry will double check everything down here," Sue interrupted tersely.

"Better make that triple check," Jesse said offhandedly. "We wouldn't want any little oversight to ruin this day for Miss Lablanc's valued fans."

"Let me know if you need anything else, Miss Lablanc," The brunette said softly, obviously a little embarrassed.

"Lucy is fine," Quinn smiled at her as she whispered, "and thank you."

Quinn watched the girl blush and shuffled off to do as Mr. St. James had ordered; she followed her manager, who seemed to be exchanging tips on how to instill fear into ones underlings, as they headed for the bathroom. He seemed to pick one person at each stop to go extra hard on, human management is what he called it, but this was the first time it had irritated her. The blonde followed them silently into the bathroom and took the garment bag from him with a sigh.

"I'll wait outside to be sure no one disturbs you," Miss Sylvester announced as she left the room.

"Was that really necessary?" the blonde asked as she unzipped the bag.

"Everything I do is necessary, Lucy." Jesse replied.

"Quinn," she snapped.

"Not for another few hours or so you're not," he answered sternly.

He zipped up her dress and checked his watch. "About ten more minutes should do it."

"Why do we go through this every time?" Quinn groaned.

"To keep them guessing," Jesse pointed out. "Writers are particular creatures, everyone knows that, but since you have no interesting quirks to market, we have to let them come up with whatever bizarre ritual you might be undertaking to prepare. It gives you mystery."

"I just want a cup of coffee," the blonde groaned.

"Nonsense," Jesse chuckled, as he emptied a bottle down the sink and tossed it into the trashcan, "there's nothing romantic about coffee. You drink rose water."

Quinn rolled her eyes and grabbed his thermos from the edge of the sink and chugged, glad that the beverage wasn't scalding, "No one is going to hunt through the trash up here to see if I threw anything away. Honestly, I don't know what I pay you for."

"Well, I do, so you don't have to worry about it," He said smoothly.

The blonde closed her eyes for a few minutes and wondered why her publishers ever assigned Jesse St. James as her manager; perhaps they too thought she needed someone to make her play the part—or maybe he was just as pushy with them as he was with everyone else. At any rate, she knew she shouldn't complain; her sales were unheard of for her kind of stories. At least he did a good job of honoring the fact that she wanted her penname and personal life kept separate. He insisted on handling every interview personally and because he controlled the life and times of Lucy Lablanc, Quinn Fabray was free to be herself in private, without having to keep all the details straight. Though she wasn't crazy about him insinuating in the last interview that romance was growing between writer and manager, it didn't really seem to matter in the grand scheme of things; she was a private, solitary person and had long since become fed up with romance after high school. Love was never the way it should be; maybe that was why she had started writing romance novels in the first place.

Quinn had never expected to publish anything to be honest; it had simply been an assignment in a writing class at college. It was required to send in one piece from the semester's writings to a publisher. She hadn't expected an acceptance letter or a deal to write more for the company she had randomly selected. Six years later, here she was—a somewhat success story that she had never intended, on the road pressing the flesh for more book sales. Truthfully, the young blonde had been thrilled at first, until her manager and publishers started turning down her other ideas and pressing her to continue the Brittany Pierce series. The possibilities could have been endless, but now she felt smothered by success, trapped in her own franchise. It would be another year before her contract came back up for negotiation and she could try to convince them to let her work with another genre; until then, she still owed them one more book.

"That ought to put us just enough behind schedule," Jesse chimed as he tapped lightly at the door, mussing his hair a little as he did so.

"It's about time," the director commented as they emerged.

The library was already filling up as her manager guided her through the crowded isles to the conference room.

"It's quite the turn out," the brunette from before bubbled excitedly. "I don't believe I've ever seen so many people in the library at one time before."

"Let's not keep them waiting—Ruth?" Jesse said sharply to the girl. "Time is money."

"Rachel," she corrected shyly, her cheeks turning pink once again. "Of course, you're right."

Her manager flinched as she reached forward and pinched his arm just above the elbow quickly; he shot the blonde a confused glance.

"Oh sorry, darling," Quinn said, batting her eyes. "I'm just a little nervous I guess."

The brunette led them to the front of the room and gave an eloquent introduction before turning the podium over to Jesse St. James. The blonde focused on the character he had created for her to play as he thanked everyone for a lovely turn out and covered the history of the book series, leading up to the current book, A Slippery Slope. Then it was Quinn's turn to speak, at length, about what inspired her to write the series and give details that she had been told readers like to hear about the writing process of the latest addition. The blonde excelled at this portion of the events; people always seemed interested in her and she carried herself well in public, and the information was memorized in advance. What she dreaded was what came next. The question and answer segment of the evening; it was so unscripted and random—sometimes downright insulting.

"Now Miss Lucy Lablanc would like to hear some of your thoughts and questions," Jesse said smoothly as he stood next to her at the podium. "Afterwards, she will be happy to sign your books for you."

Several hands shot up at once and her manager selected a blonde from the front row to be the first.

"I actually just started reading the books," the blonde admitted. "Because until last week I didn't know about them."

"Well, that's wonderful, we have a new reader." Jesse smiled.

"My name is Brittany Pierce," the blonde said. "And normally I wouldn't like people writing a bunch of stuff about me without me knowing, but I like the way you don't make me sound stupid all the time."

Many of the people in the room began to giggle and Quinn could practically hear her manager's brain turning over what to do in response.

"Also, you've totally captured how awesome I am in bed so it's totally cool," the girl said proudly.

For once Jesse seemed to be at a loss for words as the girl sat back down and Quinn smirked a little as she leaned into the microphone.

"I'm glad you're enjoying the books, Brittany, and I certainly hope no one in your life makes you feel stupid," she began. "I'll try to keep the character up to your standards and hope you keep reading."

"But of course," her manager added. "The character's name being the same as yours is a coincidence, but we are all glad that you feel proud to share the name and spirit of the girl in the novels. That's what these stories are all about; empowering women who aren't afraid to be open and take chances."

"You mean sluts don't you?" a voice called from the back of the room.

There was always one or two of these at each event, hecklers, but they were usually rigid looking women; this one was a young man, his arms crossed loosely as he leaned against the door frame with a satisfied smirk on his face, and it struck Quinn as odd.

"Isn't that all she is?" he continued. "A desperate, depraved, woman who travels the world spreading god knows what?"

"The character, sir," Jesse began.

"Now I hadn't even started talking about the character yet," the boy said coolly.

"This event is for fans of the author," Rachel snapped boldly as she stood up.

"Your bulletin says it's open to all patrons," he pointed out with a satisfied smile.

"But your manner is very—" the brunette began before her director silenced her with a wave.

"Let me see your library card," Sue chimed in, looking amused, as she stepped up to the heckler.

"Well, there you've got me I suppose." The boy shrugged.

"Well let's take care of that," the director said as she guided the boy to the front desk. "After we get this sorted out we can have our own meeting; I'd love to hear more of what you have to say, myself."

Without missing a beat Jesse selected another audience member to move things along.

"Will Brittany finally find love in the next book?" the young girl asked shyly. "True love, I mean."

"What's your name, dear?" her manager asked in a charming voice.

"Marley." The girl blushed.

Quinn was shocked that girls as young as this one were reading her books; she looked so innocent. Truthfully, the girl looked like she wouldn't be able to read any of the novels without covering her eyes every few pages.

"I'm not at liberty to disclose any detail as big as that," Quinn answered gently. "I can say that it's always been my plan to, at some point, let her find something that lasts."

"But if we told you who, when, and how, we would ruin everyone's fun," Jesse added with a well staged glance to the blonde. "You miss, in the pink dress."

"My name's Mercedes Jones and I was wondering how come she's only been with one brotha out of all the men in five books?" the brightly dressed woman asked. "Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan, but come on, Reginald? I ain't never met no homeboy with a name like that."

Quinn smiled sweetly; she'd been coached on this question several times so it was an easy answer.

"I write from experience, and more often the experience of my friends, so while the books are absolutely fictional, the inspiration for the people usually come from real life," she lied coolly. "As for the names, like many things in the books, they get changed to heighten the romanticism or fit the particular situation and setting of the story."

The truth was, her publishers often sent back her drafts with notes mandating that a character's race, ethnicity, even religion be changed to suit whatever was currently trending. The blonde usually selected the names at random; it was simply less work to leave the name as is than for her to hunt down every Reginald she had typed out and switch it.

"But let's be honest," Mercedes continued. "We all know that in the end, she's gonna end up with some white bread millionaire."

"I think it will be Brice from the first book," someone else called from the other side of the room.

"I promise you," Jesse interjected. "That when the time comes, who she finally falls for will surprise you."

It baffled the blonde that he spoke about the next book as though it were finished; she hadn't even begun working on it yet. Then again, it almost seemed like he would end up with more say in what happened by the time it was printed and on book store shelves. She smiled and thanked the woman for her questions and observations.

After many more tedious questions came the book signing. The blonde wished she could simply rubberstamp her way through it, but her manager insisted it be by hand—in quill and ink, nonetheless. Her cheeks were beginning to ache and her wrist wasn't fairing much better. A doctor had suggested a wrist brace for events like this, but her manager wouldn't hear of it. Quinn let out a little laugh as she imagined Jesse grumbling over the brace not matching her dress. Finally, the signing drew to a close and the library was shutting down; the blonde stood up and stretched, rolling her wrist in slow circles to loosen it back up.

"I'll be right back," Jesse called out. "I just have to make a quick call to the airline about our flight."

"I'll be right here." Quinn sighed.

As soon as the door closed behind him, she dropped her smile and let out a long repressed groan.

"Miss Lablanc? I mean, Lucy," a small voice sounded behind her.

"Oh, Rachel," she gasped, standing up straight again and instinctively forcing a smile, "I didn't realize you were still here."

"Well, I will be cleaning up after the event," the brunette explained. "I was wondering, if you're not too tired, of course—it's simply that as host and an employee I wasn't aloud to request and autograph during—if you don't mind?"

"Oh." The blonde nodded. "No problem; hand it over and I'll scribble away."

A huge smile spread across the girl's face. "Oh! Thank you. Just one minute."

Quinn watched her rush across the room and dig through a book bag and return with what appeared to be a magazine.

"You want me to sign a magazine?" she asked quizzically.

"It's your publisher's biyearly journal," Rachel corrected as she flipped through the journal. "It's your first published story. I, um, borrowed it from periodicals, but the replacement is paid for and on the way, I promise."

"Oh," Quinn said, blinking down at the page. "This would be the little scribble that started it all."

"I think it's a bit more than merely a little scribble," the brunette said seriously. "It was a very introspective piece about the goals we set for ourselves when we leave home as well as the fears and pressures we carry over with us from high school to college."

"You got all that from a five page story?" the blonde asked as she handed back the now signed publication.

Rachel nodded. "I'm sorry; you must be tired of talking about your work after all this today."

"It's fine." She shrugged.

"I have to admit, I was rather disappointed in our audience today," the brunette commented.

"I'm used to people like him," Quinn assured her.

"Not him," Rachel gasped, "don't even get me started on how rude and obnoxious he was. I was referring to the questions everyone else asked. They were nearly all about what is going to happen, and after all, how could you answer any of that without ruining the book for everyone? Or nitpicking little details about the men she dates. No one had anything to say about the subtler details of your stories."

"Like?" the blonde asked with an amused smile.

"Like the themes you have been following in each book. The character's journey into womanhood, not the standard milestones like age or sexual activity, but the subtle ways she is maturing and learning how to be who she is," Rachel spoke quickly. "Between the—bedroom scenes—there is a lot going on with Brittany; things that are showing how she is growing into true adulthood as both a woman and a person."

"Huh." Quinn smiled. "I actually pretty much assume that everyone skims past all that to the steamy bits."

"There are some forums online, so I know I'm not the only one who doesn't," the brunette sighed, "but no one around here seems to see it. Most of my friends either won't read them or won't admit that they do."

Quinn began packing away her quill and ink bottle, still listening to the girl chatter about some of her favorite moments from the books. She was very impressed and flattered that someone saw her books as more than just smut; admittedly there were times when she herself didn't see them as anything more than that. The blonde still loved writing, but she wished she had the freedom she had back when she was only writing for fun or for her friends to read. When she had everything back in the travel case, she began following the girl around the room and trying to help pick up the random debris, much to the little brunette's surprise.

"This is unacceptable!" Jesse bellowed into his cell as he burst through the conference room door. "I expect our tickets to be refunded immediately and new tickets on the absolute soonest flight to be at half price."

Rachel rushed back to the chair her book bag was rested on and slid the journal inside, then began clearing things more quickly. Quinn flagged her down and tried to assure her she didn't need to worry about her manager's temper. The brunette was still trying to straighten chairs while Jesse paced around angrily, still yelling into his phone, and generally disrupting a chair for every seat the girl adjusted. The blonde sighed and walked towards the door, motioning for the brunette to follow her.

"He gets a little intense when his plans get changed," she said apologetically once they were in the main hall.

They could see the snow pouring down thickly through the glass of the double doors.

"It certainly sounds like he is quite unhappy with your airline," Rachel breathed.

"Heaven forbid we get delayed and I get a few hours sleep down here on the ground." The blonde smiled.

"If you do get delayed, I know an exceptionally nice hotel that would probably give you a discount," the brunette volunteered. "I'll write down all the information; just a moment."

Rachel walked over to the main desk and began printing out the information in neat, delicate handwriting. Quinn leaned against the counter and watched as she finished copying out the directions, name, and phone number. The brunette finished and held the paper out to her.

"A good friend of mine is the manager," the girl added. "Simply ask for Kurt Hummel and tell him that Rachel Berry said to give you the very best room he has."

"Maybe you should write down your number or email," Quinn suddenly said. "In case he needs proof."

The brunette looked shocked; the blonde wasn't sure why she had just said that, but it was already out there and she didn't see any point in taking it back now. She wasn't even sure she wanted to take it back. The brunette's brown eyes were still open wide in shock when she set the paper down and quickly scrawled out her name and number in the same neat and tidy handwriting, though the letters of the email she listed looked a little shaky.

"Thanks." Quinn smiled as she tucked the paper into her pocket.

The conference room door slammed again and Jesse came over to them, his face a little red, carrying their things. Without pause, he looped his arm through Quinn's and shuffled her towards the door. Rachel hurried over to the entrance and unlocked the door to let them out while Jesse helped her into her coat; the brunette waved a silent goodbye that the blonde returned with a sad looking nod as she was rushed out into the snow.

* * *

As Rachel finished vacuuming the conference room, her mind was still trying to wrap itself around the idea that Lucy Lablanc had asked for her number and email. Maybe it was something the writer always did with the host of her events or maybe she had gotten confused and forgot that she wasn't the director. It didn't seem like the blonde had been confused when she asked, though; the way she said it sounded so friendly and warm.

From the conference room, she could hear the director laughing in her office; the woman never seemed to leave the library, even though her house was less than a block away, but it felt like Miss Sylvester had decided to take up permanent residence in the building. The exhausted girl wound up the cord and tucked the vacuum cleaner back into its little closet and began straightening the chairs. She folded up the seats that were going back in storage, but couldn't find the dolly to move them with. The brunette carried as many as she could at a time to the storage room, behind the main desk and was sure she heard another voice coming out of the director's office.

"Now she's entertaining guests here as well." Rachel sighed as she crossed the hall to get a quick drink from the water fountain.

The brunette instinctively ducked behind a nearby stack as her director emerged from the hallway.

"Well it's been a real pleasure bashing today's current author with you, young man," Sue addressed her company.

"Anytime." The man from before smiled. "Good entertainment is so hard to come by these days."

The boy shot Rachel a quick look and smirked.

"So is good help," he said offhandedly

"Don't I know it, Sebastian," the director agreed, not noticing his glance. "But you've got to have someone to lick your boots or you'd have to clean them yourself."

"Agreed." Sebastian nodded. "Thanks for the library card. Next time I'll be free to stick around for some more public fun."

The director followed him to the door and locked it behind him. Rachel quietly made her way back to the conference room.

"You still here, Berry?" Sue called.

"Just finishing up," Rachel assured her. "I won't be much longer."

"Pick up the pace; you aren't paying rent here," the woman snapped as she flipped the main hall light off and headed back to her office.

Rachel fumbled in the dark for the switch and rushed with the last of the chairs and then hurried back to collect her bag and coat. The brunette wasn't surprised their flight had been delayed; she had noticed the snow blowing past the windows throughout most of the meet the author. She was glad that she always walked to work; even though the walk home would be cold, it was much safer than trying to drive in this weather. The brunette had just slipped on her mittens when her phone began to ring. The screen flashed with the name of the hotel and Rachel assumed it must be Kurt calling to check in on her. She bit down on the mitten and pulled her hand free.

"Hello," she said, mitten still in mouth, making a goofy voice she used solely to annoy her best friend.

"I'm sorry, I think I have the wrong number; is this Rachel Berry?" a female voice stammered.

The mitten dropped out of her mouth as she began blushing. "Yes, this is Rachel Berry."

"Hi., The voice continued. "It's Qu…Lucy. Lablanc."

She almost dropped the phone as she inwardly cursed for making a fool of herself after doing so well all day.

"Oh my gosh," Rachel stammered. "Miss La…Lucy. I didn't expect to hear from you. So soon, I mean."

"I just wanted to thank you for the tip. This place is gorgeous and he did give us the discount," Quinn said over the phone.

"I'm glad," Rachel replied.

"Did I get you at a bad time? You're not driving home right now are you? It's really coming down outside," The blonde asked.

"No, I'm still at the library; I'm about to leave, though." Rachel breathed, unable to fully process who she was actually speaking to.

"I know you must be exhausted," Quinn sighed, "but I was wondering if, well, if you would like to come over for a bit?"

"I'd love to!" Rachel exclaimed. "Do you need anything? I mean, while I'm on the way?"

"No. Thank you." Quinn said quickly.

"Why?" she blurted out. "Do you want me to come over, I mean?"

There was a long pause before an answer came. "I don't know. Jesse's out at the airport trying to force some kind of deal and I've just never liked being in strange places alone. You just seemed, well, like you didn't really get to enjoy the meeting today. To be honest, you're a lot less lame than all the other fans who got to enjoy it."

"I'll be there in 20 minutes or so," Rachel said in a daze. "Room 218?"

"How'd you know?" Quinn asked.

"Because that's the best room and Kurt would never disappoint me." The brunette laughed.

"Okay." The other girl giggled.

"So," she murmured. "I'll be there soon. Bye."

"Bye." Quinn sighed.

Rachel hung up and bent down to retrieve her mitten; her cell went off again, and this time the number wasn't one she recognized.

"Hello, Rachel Berry speaking," she said cautiously.

"Are you sure I'm not keeping you from anything important?" Quinn asked again. "I feel weird asking you to come all the way out here after you've worked all day."

"Not at all," the brunette said cheerfully. "I have tomorrow off anyway."

"Okay," the blonde said happily. "Bye."

"See you soon—bye," Rachel said softly.

The brunette stood for a minute as though she expected the phone to ring again as she buttoned up her coat. Then she made a quick call to a taxi service and hurried to the break room to clock out. The snow was still pouring down as she stood on the sidewalk under a light post. It was taking a bit longer for the cab to arrive than she had expected and she was beginning to wonder if she should call to let the other girl know she would be later than planned. The thought seemed so odd to her and now, watching her breath make little silver clouds amid the thickly pouring snowflakes; it was beginning to feel like this might be a dream. While she was deciding if it was worth pulling off her gloves to call, the cab pulled up and she hopped inside, grateful for the warmth, and told the driver the destination. It was a quick ride and she paid the driver as fast as she could and dashed into the hotel.

"Rachel!" Kurt called from the front desk. "What an unexpected visit!"

"Hello, Kurt," she smiled, "actually I'm here to—"

"Stalk your favorite author?" he finished, giving her a serious look.

"No," the brunette sputtered. "I'm just—"

"Planning to sneak into her room and 'borrow' the manuscript for the next book?" he whispered. "Because I will absolutely help you; I have a master key."

"Kurt, please be serious," Rachel pleaded. "I don't know why it happened, but Miss Lablanc has actually personally invited me to visit."

"You're not serious!" He gasped.

"I am, as a matter of fact," the petite girl said proudly. "So if you'll excuse me, I'm off to replace you."

She said the last part with a quick wink and he pantomimed a look of hurt and abandonment that made her laugh out loud.

"You could never replace me," Kurt pointed out. "I checked her in; she might be famous, but I have her beat in the style and flare department. I'm prettier too."

Rachel laughed again as she waved to him and took the stairs to the second floor. Room 218 was at the end of the hall and was the largest room in the entire hotel; it had the best view and the finest furnishings. Rachel had always imagined that if she was ever to find someone special enough, that would be the room where they would share their first night together.

She knocked at the door and the blonde opened it all the way; the brunette's breath caught in her throat at the sight of the woman toweling her damp hair and wrapped up in a bath robe.

"Sorry, I tired to make it a quick shower so I would have time to get dressed," the blonde blushed, "but it's been a long week and the shower in there is amazing."

"That's alright," Rachel assured her. "I was going to apologize for taking so long getting here, but now I feel guilty that you rushed your shower."

"Don't worry about it." Quinn smiled. "I'm the one who called you out here and probably disrupted your night."

"Not at all," the brunette smiled, "I didn't have any plans."

"No plans sounds nice." the blonde sighed. "I'm all planned out for the next few months."

"That sounds stressful," Rachel commented as she closed the door behind her and stood awkwardly in the little entranceway."

"I shouldn't complain." Quinn shrugged. "Just sit anywhere."

Rachel sat her bag on the little round table in front of the window and unbuttoned her coat, depositing it on top of the bag as she took a seat. The blonde stretched out on the bed and tuned the radio until she found a station playing light jazz and turned the volume down low. They sat in silence for a few minutes and the brunette found herself nervously glancing around the room to keep herself from staring at the other girl. She could feel the girl's hazel eyes on her, but she was suddenly in a rare situation where she was at a loss for words.

"So you really do drink rose water," Rachel commented, nodding to a large case of pink tinted bottles.

"I tried a sip once and hated it," Quinn answered honestly. "The manager says it makes me sound more romantic."

"I hated it too," the brunette admitted sheepishly. "I like it fine as a flavoring in some dishes, but not drinking it straight."

Rachel felt a little foolish admitting she had tired the drink after reading about the writer drinking it.

"I wonder how many lonely hearts out there are chugging rose water in my name," Quinn mused. The blonde glanced at her and quickly ducked her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean you."

"No offence taken." Rachel smiled before falling silent once again.

The petite girl squirmed a little in her chair and pulled a tie out from underneath herself.

"Oh, I didn't see this when I sat down," she said apologetically.

"Jesse can be a real slob when he's pissed off." The blonde shrugged.

"It must be nice, though, to get to travel to all these places with him while you write," the brunette ventured.

Quinn laughed. "What?"

"Since you two are," Rachel said cautiously. "I read online that you two were—"

"We're not together." Quinn physically shuddered. "Again, he says it's romantic."

"Does he just lie about everything?" the brunette asked.

"Yep," the blonde sighed, "he's a lying ass."

"Lucy!" She gapsed, instinctively chastised the sudden language.

"About that, too," the author said with a wide smile.

"About what?" Rachel asked.

The blonde beckoned her closer and whispered, "My real name is Quinn."

"Quinn?" the brunette repeated.

"Quinn Fabray." She sighed. "God it feels good to hear someone say my real name. It's been two days. Lucy Lablanc is my penname and a character Jesse has developed."

Rachel blinked a few times as the blonde rested against the headboard and looked at her with amusement.

"Well I think Quinn is a wonderful name." The brunette shrugged. "Why would he make you use a penname?"

"Oh, the penname was my idea," Quinn corrected. "At the time I didn't want my parents to see my name on some trashy romance cover and be embarrassed. It worked out though; I'm a pretty private person, and I don't think I would handle people showing up at my house for autographs."

"I can understand that." Rachel nodded. "Why would your parents be embarrassed?"

"Are you kidding?" The blonde laughed. "Would you talk to your mom about half the stuff in my books?"

The brunette blushed. "I suppose not. Though I don't know my mother; I was raised by my fathers."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up anything painful." The blonde sighed.

"Oh no, it's fine; I wonder sometimes of course, but I love my daddies," Rachel assured her.

Quinn smiled and continued, "Turns out I was worried about nothing. One day my mom calls me on the phone to suggest a book she thinks I should read, A Silky Sea—it was awful."

"How is that awful?" Rachel girl giggled. "Your mother being proud of your work is a good thing, right?"

The blonde's face grew serious and her hazel eyes narrowed. "She started reading me a scene right over the phone. I thought I might be sick."

"It couldn't have been that bad," Rachel objected.

"Brittany and Maxwell's 'farewell' scene?" The blonde arched an eyebrow as she whispered the words.

"Oh my," the brunette giggled, "you win. I don't think I could handle one of my father's reading that out loud."

There was another short silence after their laughter subsided. Rachel couldn't quite believe how natural it felt to just sit and talk with the author, perched on the edge of the bed, with the blonde curled up in a sitting position against the headboard. It didn't feel at all like they had only met today; the woman was so down to earth and natural—nothing like the articles painted her.

"I can see why you would keep the penname," the girl said. "But why put on this whole persona?"

"It's what sells." Quinn shrugged. "Jesse and the publishers say the character of the author is just as important as the character they write."

The blonde laughed a little at the look of shock on Rachel's face.

"I'm lucky," She insisted. "Except for having to play the part for things like today, they take care of everything."

"I can't believe they do that, though." Rachel sighed. "It seems so disrespectful to you as a professional."

The blonde had a sly smile on her face as she spoke again. "Have you read any of Blaine Anderson's books?"

"Not personally," Rachel answered. "But Kurt absolutely adores him."

"You know the picture on the back of the dust jacket?" Quinn continued suggestively.

"You don't mean!" the brunette sputtered. "But we hosted him last year at the library; it was him, he looks just like his picture. You're not saying they made him have some sort of plastic surgery."

"I'm saying it's not him at all; Blaine Anderson is a penname. The man you hosted does all the photo shoots and interviews and book signings," the blonde explained.

"But why?" The shocked girl gasped.

"Several reasons." Quinn sighed. "the real author isn't fully out of the closet. Can you keep a secret?"

"Absolutely," Rachel said seriously. "I promise."

"Was there a security guard with them when you hosted?" Quinn continued and the librarian nodded. "That's the real author—guard Karofsky; his manager feels Blaine more appropriately fits the part."

"That's simply absurd." Rachel huffed. "They treat you all like little dolls."

"But it sells." Quinn shrugged. "Probably better than if I went up there as myself and anyway, it's what we agree to when we sign the contract. I knew what I was getting myself into."

"Nonsense," the brunette insisted. "There is nothing wrong with the person I am speaking to right now."

"I wouldn't buy a book from me," the blonde admitted.

"Well," Rachel said clearly, looking the blonde straight in the eye. "I like Quinn Fabray every bit as much as I liked Lucy Lablanc, actually more to be completely honest. You're an inspiration. A real person with real feelings and you're not afraid to laugh at yourself a little. People need a role model like that. Of course I understand you wanting to protect your privacy, but I think your manager is being a fool not to see how special you are without all the needless bells and whistles. I understand theatricality and it has its place, but I truly think that you're—"

The blonde's lips were suddenly against hers; Rachel's mind went blank as the warm feeling of the other girl's tongue traced across her bottom lip. The brunette parted her lips slightly and their tongues grazed.

"I'm sorry," Quinn mumbled, pulling away slightly. "I don't know why—was that alright?"

"Mmmhhmmm," was all Rachel could seem to utter a she sat there dazed.

"I can't believe I just—" the blonde began.

Rachel, without thinking, latched back on to the woman's lips again and Quinn's arms wrapped around her, pulling her a little father onto the bed. The brunette had sometimes had fantasies about women, but she'd never been in a situation like this. She'd dated exactly one boy in high school, and one boy at community college, which barely counted because the last one had never become physical. Since then, she'd had a series of first dates, usually set up by friends, which never seemed to go anywhere. This was becoming physical quickly. The blonde's fingers were tangled in Rachel's dark hair, holding their faces close together, as their tongues connected. It seemed like Quinn was afraid that the brunette was going to bolt at any moment, which she felt was absurd; the petite girl wasn't even sure her legs could function right now.

Rachel's hand trembled slightly as she brushed a few damp strands of blonde hair from the back of the woman's neck and she felt goose bumps spring up along Quinn's soft skin. The brunette leaned back as the author released her grip on her hair, and she tugged the long sweater off. The pink tank top she wore underneath rolled up as the wooly fabric of the sweater drug away, exposing her midsection. The blonde was already slipping the soft pink garment over the librarian's head as she deposited the sweater on the floor and soon the camisole was deposited on top of the grey knitted garment. Rachel slid lightly onto her feet and began working her shoes off as the blonde stroked her arms and sides, sending ticklish sensations racing all over the brunette's body. A grey and pink plaid bra was all that covered Rachel's top half and Quinn looped her fingers under the straps and pulled her back into a kiss. The blonde moaned into Rachel's mouth as she slid a warm hand into the other woman's bathrobe and grazed her breast timidly. The brunette's free hand tugged gently at the belt holding the terrycloth robe closed and slid it around the Quinn's waist.

She half expected to wake up at any moment; part of her was waiting to hear the irritating buzz of the alarm clock any minute now. All Rachel did hear was the sound of her heart beating loud and fast in her ears. The brunette blinked as Quinn drew back again, lightly nipping her lower lip as she ended the kiss, and slid the robe off her shoulders. This was all moving so fast. She couldn't believe it; she'd never been like this with anyone. She had always been so careful and reserved about sex. Now, as the blonde reached around behind her and unhooked her bra, she pushed all her thoughts of caution and boundaries away. It felt right—it felt good.

"I need out," Rachel stammered and Quinn froze, bra still dangling in her right hand.

Quinn had a look of panic on her face and the brunette fidgeted with the waistband of her leggings. "Of these."

Quinn smiled and laid back, watching her as she slid out of the black leggings and deposited them on top of the rest of her clothes, and let the robe fall all the way open on the bed. When the blonde pushed herself back up, she allowed her arms to slide free of the plush sleeves and she looked the girl up and down with another smile. The brunette reached back and pulled out the clip that had been holding her hair back and her dark hair, slightly tangled from the day, fell across her shoulders. Rachel's panties, which matched her bra, were all that was left on as she crawled onto the bed and continued kissing Quinn. The blonde began trailing kisses from her lips to the brunette's earlobe, where she paused and then gave it a light graze of her teeth.

"Rachel," she breathed, barely above a whisper, as she trailed her fingers lightly down the girl's neck and over her breast.

"Hhmm." The brunette sighed as she relished the humming feeling of her skin under the blonde's warm hand.

"Can you say my name? Please," The woman asked before sliding her tongue down the girl's neck and sucking lightly.

"Quinn," she crooned into the blonde's ear as she ran her fingers down the length of Quinn's spine and back up, noting the perfectly smooth texture of the girl's peachy skin.

Rachel gasped as Quinn responded with an increase of pressure against her neck and a light squeeze of her breast; the blonde ran her thumb over the brunette's nipple as she pressed her gently down on the bed. Rachel's heart skipped a beat as the blonde straddled her and looked down, the author's hazel eyes locking with her own, and she reached up to cup the woman's breasts with both hands. Quinn's head rolled back as she let out an excited gasp and gripped the brunette's wrists lightly. The blonde slid her hands down the length of Rachel's arms as she leaned over her and began kissing her neck once again. The brunette continued to massage the woman's breasts as the blonde began to slowly inch her mouth down towards her nipples. The brunette squirmed a little bit as Quinn's mouth closed around one of her sensitive peaks.

"Is that okay?" She whispered.

"Yeah, it's fine." She sighed. "It's good."

Quinn gave her a sly smile and teased her nipple with her tongue; Rachel arched her back and let out a soft moan. The blonde's rosy peaks were hard and arched and the brunette gently pressed the rigid buds and smiled as it elicited a loud response from the woman; her moan vibrated against her breast, turning her on all the more. She released one of the blonde's voluptuous breasts and used her arm to lift herself up slightly; the woman shifted to allow her to capture one of her nipples lightly between her teeth. Quinn panted and leaned back, pulling Rachel up into a sitting position, as she continued to gasp excitedly. The brunette could feel Quinn's hand tangle into her hair once more as she sucked roughly at the blonde's flushed nub. Quinn was practically vibrating and Rachel could feel the woman's heartbeat throbbing against her lips; the bare flesh at the apex of the blonde's legs was pressed against her thigh, just above the knee, and she could feel her heat.

The blonde's hand slid down around her back and traced lightly over the small of the brunette's back before slipping eagerly over her bottom. The author played with the soft fabric of the petite girl's panties, snapping the elastic playfully, before gripping the bare skin of cheek. The brunette returned the favor giving the blonde's nipple a few quick flicks with her tongue before quickly moving her hands and gripping her butt as well. Quinn giggled and snapped her underwear again before pushing her back down on the bed; Rachel could feel the warmth spreading over her entire body and she let out an excited little laugh as the blonde tugged at the only piece of clothing left on her. The woman's center slid over the brunette's knee as she slipped the panties off and she let out a pleased little gasp. The blonde deposited the garment on top of the pile of discarded clothing and slowly trailed her fingers up the brunette's leg, pausing for a moment at the soft flesh of her thigh, and Rachel let out a punctuated sigh.

Rachel turned her head into the pillow as Quinn gently grazed her soft center, feeling the smooth slickness of her. The brunette panted as the now constant throb grew and intensified into a heartbeat all its own; the writers fingers circled her delicate flesh, directing her breathing in slow, gentle, waves. With every moan and heated breath, the blonde seemed to study her, as though unsure of whether she were causing pleasure or pain.

"It's amazing, Quinn," Rachel said with a ragged sigh. "Don't stop."

Quinn adjusted the girl's short and shapely legs and knelt between them, rocking slightly as she inserted a finger timidly into her hot, wet center, before leaning back over her, resting her blonde locks on Rachel's stomach, and placing a tender kiss on the girl's bellybutton. The brunette uttered a sharp gasp and a moan as she slid her finger back and forth, slowly adding another finger as she quickened the pace. Her voice hitched and pitched as her body trembled and shuddered, her nerve endings practically singing as the warm sensation continued to build. Rachel dug her fingers into the blonde's still damp hair and struggled not to squirm as she continued to work her fingers inside her. She was biting down on her lip as the felt her pulsating core spasm and her legs dropped limply against the bed.

Her breath was still coming heavy and uneven as the blonde smiled and began to move away; Rachel shot up and gripped her by the waist, pulling her close to her again and placing a hot kiss on the Quinn's mouth. The brunette's hands slid down the blonde's side and lingered at the top of Quinn's hip as she nuzzled her face into the woman's neck and licked lightly against her pulse, which was racing. As she moved her hand warmly between the girl's thighs, the blonde's hand gently batted at her, and Rachel moved her lips to the author's ear.

"Quinn," she breathed her whisper like a little prayer. "Quinn."

The blonde surrendered control, allowing Rachel to ease her down on the bed, and sucked in a deep husky breath. The petite girl moved slowly, sensing the other girl's reluctance to give in, and gently stroked her thighs as she parted Quinn's legs. The writer's inner thigh was wet with sweat and excitement, and Rachel glanced up at her with a warm, knowing smile. The blonde had her face covered with her hands and the brunette crawled over her until her face hovered above Quinn's hands.

"Quinn," she asked softly. "Are you okay?"

Her hazel eyes peeked out from between her fingers and then her hands fell away, reaching around to grip the pillow behind her head.

"Yes," the blonde whispered.

"Okay." Rachel smiled, beginning to kiss her again.

Rachel trailed her kisses from Quinn's lips back down to her neck, then traveled on, stopping a moment to pay extra attention to the blonde's breast once again, before continuing her kisses and licks down over her silky smooth skin. Quinn's pelvis jolted as the brunette's lips landed on her center and she heard the woman apologizing through quickening breaths. Her tongue flicked quickly against the blonde's womanhood and she felt her partner's legs quiver against the bed. The blonde still smelt of soap, a light floral scent with a sugary sweet undertone, and Rachel smiled as she lifted her head back up and caressed the petal soft flesh of Quinn's sweet warmth. If the woman was trying to restrain her movements, the brunette couldn't tell; the blonde was writhing on the bed with even the lightest of touches. Her breath was coming fast and raspy as she let out soft little yelps of pleasure, which Rachel found very rewarding, and the woman's obvious ecstasy spurred her on all the more.

As she finally entered Quinn's receptive body, the woman let out a warm ecstatic giggle; the brunette batted her eyes and pressed her fingers in again, relishing the soft wetness of her, and smiled again at the reaction she had elicited.

"Good?" Rachel asked softly.

"Yes, yes," Quinn panted, "yes—"

Rachel continued the repetitive motion as the blonde chanted her approval in more and more urgent tones. The brunette felt Quinn's depths tighten around her fingers and she watched as the author arched and then rested back against the bed. She gently removed her hand and climbed back up towards the headboard to give the blonde a soft, ironically timid, kiss before curling up against her. Quinn slid a slightly shaky arm under the brunette and pulled her closer. Rachel felt her rest her head on top of hers as they enjoyed the silence together.

* * *

Quinn laid on her stomach, wrapped loosely in the bed sheet, as Rachel slid her tank top back on. She wasn't sure which of them was more shocked by what had just taken place; she could tell the brunette wasn't the one night stand kind of girl. The sleek girl glanced back at her and smiled. The blonde had been with plenty of men in her life, but she had never been with a woman, not even an experimental kiss, and she had never even realized she was interested in girls. She tried to tell herself that it made sense; her editors often sent back her drafts complaining that she didn't describe the men in as much detail as she painted the main character. Quinn wondered to herself if this was something that had laid dormant in her subconscious or if it was a result of writing the intimate details of a female character for so long.

"Are you alright?" Rachel asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. "What are you thinking about? Did I do anything wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Quinn assured her/ "My mind is just always busy, busy, busy."

"I can relate to that." The brunette nodded as she slipped back into her leggings.

"So distract me," the blonde demanded playfully.

"Didn't I already do that?" Rachel teased back.

"Yes," Quinn smiled, "but that's got my mind twice as busy now."

The girl paused as she sat back down on the edge of the bed and chewed her lower lip. Quinn could feel the big questions coming—questions she wasn't truly sure she had the answers to, but she would have to answer nonetheless.

"Do you," the girl began. "I mean this, does this happen often?"

The blonde looked down at the crumpled sheets of the bed and shook her head.

"This has never happened before," she answered.

"Oh." The petite girl sighed. "I just, I've never done anything like this. From your writing I assumed you were—"

"I am," Quinn stated quickly. "Or I was, or thought I was. Look, I really don't understand everything that just happened. Not that I regret it, I just didn't plan on it, you know?"

"Okay." Rachel nodded. "I think we are both a little surprised by this. It's alright; we could talk about something else if you like."

"Thank you." Quinn smiled gratefully.

The blonde wanted to lean forward and kiss the brunette again, but that seemed like it would only confuse things further, so she leaned back on the pillow and waited for the girl to say something. After a few moments of silence she sighed and leaned forward again.

"So how do you like working at the library?" Quinn asked.

"I love it most of the time," Rachel replied. "Sometimes the director can be a bit tiring and there is a little drama off and on, but for the most part, it's wonderful. I'm great friends with most of my coworkers."

"I'm not fond of my coworker," the blonde commented. "How did you decide to work there?"

"I wanted my applications to be varied, so I volunteered there my senior year. Mr. Schuester, oh he was the director then, liked me so well that he worked out a type of work study shift for me that would work with my college schedule," The brunette explained. "I was originally studying music and theater, but I liked it there so much, I dropped music to switch majors. Then the new director came and there were some drastic budget cuts, so I had to decide if I wanted to find a new job or stay on fulltime."

"So you dropped out of college?" she asked.

"Not exactly; I'm still taking a few classes at a time towards my major," Rachel explained. "But I simply didn't want to give up a job I loved so much. After all, it is what I'm working towards anyway."

"And you love books." The writer nodded.

"Yes," the librarian answered happily.

"I dropped out of college after I signed my contract," Quinn admitted. "Writing wasn't even my major; it was just a filler class I was taking for fun."

"And it turned into more." The brunette smiled.

"A full time job," the blonde agreed. "Do you write?"

"No," Rachel blushed, "no, I only read."

"Listening to you talk is kind of like reading a book," Quinn explained. "In a good way; you'd make a good writer."

"I simply never have any good ideas." Rachel sighed.

"Neither do I," She teased.

Rachel huffed a little. "Why do you do that? There are so many people, myself included, that love your work."

"Because my stories are so groundbreaking and original?" The blonde quipped. "Honestly I do love writing, the first few drafts that is, but I guess I'm just feeling a little burnt out on the whole Brittany Pierce thing."

The brunette looked at her sympathetically. "I still think that you underestimate yourself. There is plenty of merit and originality."

Quinn gave her a weak smile and suddenly asked, "Which was your favorite book?"

"A Savory Spring." Rachel answered without hesitation.

The blonde laughed a little; the titles of her books always gave her a chuckle. She remembered the brainstorming session for the title of that one, the third book, and how irritated she had gotten. Quinn had thrown her pen across the room and yelled 'a something-y something or sometime' and stormed out. After that, her editor started sending title suggestions along with each returned draft.

The brunette was clipping her hair back up, off of her shoulders, and Quinn spotted the small tattoo on her lower left shoulder blade once again. She had noticed it earlier, but had been otherwise occupied.

"I didn't peg you for the tattoo type," the blonde commented.

"Gold stars are kind of my thing," Rachel said, blushing again, as though she were slightly ashamed of the markings on her body. "When I was in high school, I was certain I would be famous, Kurt did too, so we made a sort of bet. We swore that if we hadn't had some sort of major performance by 25, we would get tattoos; we're both terrified of needles, but it never occurred to us that life wouldn't turn out the way we'd planned. We tried everything to get the school to invest in more programs that would challenge us; Mr. Schuester even offered to try to help, but there wasn't enough interest. Without competition to prepare us, I suppose we simply weren't forced to push ourselves to the standards required to get into the colleges we applied too."

"That's awful," Quinn said sadly.

"I'll admit, I spent a good amount of time feeling sorry for myself and thinking the world was over," the girl shrugged, "but I'm pretty happy now. I had completely forgotten about out little pact, but then my 25th rolled around, and Kurt shows up at my door insisting on it."

The brunette chuckled as she continued the story. "Apparently he had already gotten his on his birthday, but didn't tell me; probably because if I'd been given the time, I would have found a way out of it, so I basically had no choice. He paid for it, though; I got it as small as he would let me get away with, and I do think it turned out rather well. Though, I know for certain I will never go through that again!"

"It's lovely," Quinn assured her. "Very tasteful."

Rachel shot her a grateful smile and laid back on the bed.

"So, how long have you been out?" The blonde reluctantly brought the subject back to where it had started. "Or are you out? I guess how long have you known you were—" The writer gave up on phrasing it correctly and sighed.

"I didn't really know, to be honest; I'd had a few fantasies," the brunette shrugged, "but I didn't really know. I only knew I was open to the idea."

"Does that make me your first?" Quinn said, a little shocked and humbled.

"It does." Rachel nodded.

"Oh." The blonde breathed.

"More honestly," the brunette added. "You're my second sexual partner."

Quinn's eyes went wide. It was hard to believe and she struggled against her nature to call her bluff. The girl had certainly seemed to know exactly what she was doing before; she had been better than any of the men the blonde had been with and she knew for a fact that most of them had lots of experience.

"You could have fooled me," she said instead of, 'there's no way'.

Rachel looked at her as though she were trying to decide if her comment was a compliment or an insult; the blonde smiled and the brunette smiled back.

"Well," Rachel said shyly. "I've read all your books."

"I never covered that in my books." Quinn shook her head and winked at the girl. "Finally, the books have come in handy for something! I can honestly say that's the most joy I've ever gotten out of them." Rachel giggled and the blonde locked eyes with her. "Seriously, that was the best sex I've had in years. Maybe the best I've ever had."

"Me too," the brunette said blushingly. "But then it's been—well—years."

Quinn laughed out loud and scooted closer to the girl. Her voice became much quieter as she summoned up the courage to ask.

"Do you think it would be alright if I—we—" she began quietly.

They both froze as the door clicked and then flew open; Jesse walked into the room quickly, without looking up from his phone.

"Good news, I talked them into two first class tickets at 6am for the cost of coach. Am I good or," he was calling cheerfully as he looked up. "What?"

Everyone was completely still, except for Jesse's eyes, which darted about, taking in the whole scene. Quinn could practically see his blood pressure rising as he glanced between the two of them; the pieces of the puzzle falling together in his mind.

"What the hell is this?" Jesse asked quickly.

"It's none of your business," The blonde snapped. "Get out! Why didn't you knock?"

"Well of course I would have knocked if I'd known how busy you were trying to ruin everything!" he bellowed back. "Who is this? What the holy hell is she doing here?"

Her manager glared at Rachel, who was struggling with her sweater, and Quinn felt a hot jolt of protective anger shoot through her.

"She's only visiting; I invited her," she screamed back at him. "Now get out, Jesse!"

"Naked visiting." Jesse laughed. "Oh you've really messed up especially well. How much will it cost to keep her quiet?"

"Quiet?" Rachel squeaked as she fumbled for her shoes.

"Oh, it's you, from the library," he said, his voice a little lighter. "Ruth?"

"Rachel!" the blonde flared.

"I'm sorry," the brunette sputtered. "I should go."

"No," Quinn whispered weakly.

"Yes," Jesse barked as he opened the door. "I think that's best. You're smarter than I gave you credit for."

The blonde received an apologetic look from the brunette as she gathered her things; as the now fully dressed girl slinked out of the room, it was like half of herslef was being dragged away with her. Her manager slammed the door behind her and turned to glare at Quinn, who was now searching for her robe; he leaned against the door as her hazel eyes pierced back at him.

"What is wrong with you? Are you trying to throw it all away?" he grumbled. "Do you have any idea what this kind of thing could do to your franchise? If you needed something like that, why not me? Christ's sake, you could have grabbed some man from a random truck stop and it would have at least been good publicity but no. You had to slut it up with her?"

"I'm not a slut!" Quinn seethed. "It's none of your fucking business anyway!"

Her manager motioned to the mirror, directing her to her reflection, as though the image of her wrapped in a sheet with her hair mussed from earlier were all the proof he needed to prove his point. Her face was very nearly scarlet at this point.

"You're fired!" the blonde screeched.

"Don't be stupid." Jesse laughed. "Do you know how rare it is for trashy romance novels to have this kind of popularity? That's all me, don't forget that. Why on earth did you even let her in here?"

He must have noticed the confused look on her face; his eyes widened a little and he stepped closer.

"She came over here on her own, right?" Jesse asked. "Please tell me you didn't actually invite her."

Quinn's jaw clinched as she stared him down.

"That's just great," he grumbled as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Alright, I can fix this."

The blonde sighed as she pulled her robe back on and sat down on the bed.

"There's nothing to fix," she stated. "Just leave it."

There was a huge part of her that wanted to slap him, but the other part of her felt numb. With the brunette gone, having the luck to be able to run away from the embarrassing scene, she felt like she was left to face all the confusion and fury alone.

"Fine," he said, surprising her. "We'll just calm down. I'm going to step into the bathroom and let you collect yourself."

As soon as the bathroom door closed behind him, she walked over to the dresser and picked up her phone; while it rang, she slid into a pair of pajama bottoms and tried to detangle her hair with her trembling fingers.

"Hello." Rachel's voice sounded shaky, and the blonde was sure she had been crying.

"Rachel," Quinn sighed, "I'm so sorry about all of this. Jesse had no right to talk to you like that. I didn't mean for all this to—"

"It's alright, Quinn," the brunette sniffled, "I'm just sorry I've put you through all this."

"No, it's not," the blonde sighed in irritation, "your fault."

"But you're in trouble with your manager now," the girl insisted with a shaky voice.

"I'm not worried about that." Quinn groaned. "I'm worried about you. Are you—"

Jesse quickly grabbed the phone from her; she hadn't even heard him come up behind her. Before she could react, he strode back into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. The blonde pounded on the door, but she knew it was useless. She pressed her ear against the decorative hardwood and listened.

"I'm merely reminding you that your library singed a contract with our publishing agency," she could hear him mumbling. "You are not to disclose any of what happened tonight. If you so much as blog about anything said or done tonight with Miss Lablanc, you will be faced with a lawsuit. Have I made myself clear?"

Quinn swallowed thickly; he was using his most icy tone and she could imagine how badly it was cutting the other girl.

"Good, I'm glad you understand me," he said. "Now, delete this number from your phone immediately."

For about five minutes there was uninterrupted silence; the blonde slumped over to the table and sat down, resting her head against the cold surface as her mind raced off in several directions. Quinn was furious, but that was dwarfed by the embarrassment and misery she felt. She wondered if Rachel was alright; inexplicably she felt an ache for the girl's company right now—to not feel alone is all this. It wasn't only Jesse's bellowing and crude behavior, it was the interruption, the fact that he had come in just as she had been letting herself come to terms with all this. Tonight had been a huge revelation, like seeing clearly for the first time, and now she felt blinded by a harsh, scrutinizing spotlight. As the euphoric feeling from earlier faded, she was left with the crushing weight of loss and doubt; she struggled to keep her anger, which was fading precariously, to ward off the tears. The bathroom door opened and Jesse stepped out boldly.

"Her number is deleted from your phone," he said coolly. "You're welcome."

Jesse St. James tossed the cell onto the bed and she stared blankly at him for a few seconds. Her anger came rushing back and she snatched the ashtray off the table and chucked it at him; to her dismay he dodged it. The shimmering glass object sailed past his head and left a deep dent in the wall.

"Are we done?" He sighed.

Quinn groped for something else to hurl at him; he allowed her to toss several small objects at him. Her frustration and blurry eyes caused her to miss on all accounts and finally there were no more items that could have caused much damage. She screamed angrily and sat back down; the last of her anger ebbing away, taking her strength with it.

"I don't see why you're making such a big fuss over this." Jesse shrugged. "You don't even know the girl."

Her manager poured her a glass of water and set it on the table before sitting down. She took the glass weakly and took a light sip.

"I apologize for calling you a slut," Jesse stated. "I know how it effects you and I shouldn't have lost my head. I knew this trip would be difficult for you, being as private and stubborn as you are; I just never imagined I would walk in on something like that."

"You should have knocked," the blonde grumbled.

"Perhaps I should have," he nodded, "but that doesn't change things."

"No, it doesn't," Quinn said pointedly. "It's still none of your business."

"Business," Jesse chimed. "Now that's a good word for us to focus on. Think of the business you are in and your demographic. Now tell me what they would think if they found out. What about your parents? How would they handle reading all about it in some tabloid? Think of how out of the blue this is for me, who has to safeguard your image; I mean you've never written anything that would make me think that you had an interest in girls. Well, Brittany wasn't exactly experimenting in lesbianism; you didn't even write her as having any close female friends."

The blonde sighed, mostly at the mention of her parents; she had begun to shed the fear of their disappointment, but she had no desire to hurt them. She knew that reading about it that way or having someone else tell them would hurt them deeply.

"How long have you known about," he cleared his throat, "this part of you?"

Her manager gave her a somewhat sympathetic look, but everything he did was staged, so the blonde saw straight through is attempt to seem kind.

"This is the first time anything like this has happened if that's what you mean," Quinn snapped. "And don't think I'm buying your act for one minute."

"Fine," Jesse shrugged, "so let's assume you run out of here right now and go find your little librarian. What then?"

She opened her mouth, but then closed it again, unsure of what to say.

"Then I suppose your plan would be to keep it a secret until you've finished out your contract," he suggested sarcastically. "I guess then everything would be fine. Oh, but how long to do you think it would stay a secret? In a little nowhere town like this."

Quinn rested her head on the table again.

"I think this has all been blown out of proportion by the shock of it," he continued. "Unless I'm wrong and it's true love. Also, assuming this wasn't just a fluke, a little stress relief and experimentation, but who am I to judge if she was your soul mate or not."

The blonde remained silent as exhaustion began to fog her mind.

"So you tell me," he crooned. "Is it true love?"

"I don't know." She admitted.

Quinn glanced up in time to see a cocky smile. "So, best case scenario, you're in love and your family doesn't quite disown you, but you know they're avoiding you, then suddenly your book sales plummet. After all, it only takes a few of your loyal fans deciding that your books may have subliminal subtext that may lure them to a homosexual lifestyle. Well, in that case, you can always fall back on your degree." The writer flinched as he shot her a glance during the pause. "Oh, I almost forgot, you don't have one."

"That's not exactly the best case scenario," she objected.

She hated that she was letting him wear her down; the blonde desperately wanted to fight back. Years ago she would have simply tore him down. She'd been a terror in high school to anyone who dared cross her, but after so many years of falling in line, some of the fire had left her spirit.

"It is," he assured her. "Do you want to hear the worst?"

"No," she grumbled with a half hearted glare.

"I propose you finish out your contract," Jesse said confidently. "It's only one year, after all; that's plenty of time for you to sort out what you really want and considerably cheaper than losing everything."

Quinn yawned and ran her fingers through her hair. "Fine."

Jesse gave her a haughty look. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Alright." She said, not looking him in the eye as she got up and walked to the bed.

"Fantastic." He smiled, checking his watch. "You can get about two hours of sleep before our flight. I suggest you get as must rest as possible. I'll be in my room."

The blonde rolled over numbly and waited until she heard the door click shut behind him. She hated him, nearly as much as she hated herself—more for voicing her fears for her than anything else. It was just so much safer not to risk anything; she squeezed her hazel eyes shut and tried to ignore the tears that were slipping out from under her eyelids. Quinn assured herself that, though annoying and pompous, her manager was right, and the author suddenly realized why so many successful people seemed miserable. Success meant sacrifice.

* * *

_Ten Months Later_

Rachel sighed as she leaned against the counter, watching the clock, and she could feel Tina giving her a concerned look out of the corner of her eye. The brunette tried to ignore it; her friend seemed about to say something when a customer approached. She stood up straight and reached for the book.

"I can't wait to see what I do next," the now familiar blonde bubbled. "I don't remember doing half of the stuff from the other books. Do you think she knows what I dream about?"

Rachel flinched as little as she scanned A Slippery Slope and handed it back to the girl.

"Enjoy," she said quickly. "That's due back on the 8th."

"I should have taken that one," Tina said apologetically as the blonde skipped over to the water fountain.

"It's fine." Rachel sighed. "Honestly, I should be over it by now. I don't know why I'm not."

She sighed again; the brunette had been attempting to move on from the events last January. Rachel had accepted every match up her friends suggested, which now included women, and even signed up on a dating site, despite her embarrassment at doing so. For whatever reason—and she had gone over many theories in her head—she seemed unable to shake the lingering emptiness. She had considered that it was the shock of doing something so out of character as a one night stand, that it had been someone she had dreamed of meeting for so long, or even that it was her first experience with a woman. At any rate, she was still struggling to return to normal and open up to a relationship. It wasn't even that the people her friend's set her up with were unappealing; if anything, some of them were out of her league, she felt, and her friends were very discerning about who they introduced her too.

"Is there a way I can get that book next?" Mercedes spoke loudly at the counter, calling over her shoulder as she added. "Because someone thinks they own the whole Lablanc collection up in here."

"I can put that on reserve for you, yes." Rachel smiled.

As the brunette typed, she heard her phone buzzing in her purse. She glanced at Tina who hopped up to check it for her.

"It's Kurt," the girl announced.

"He knows when my breaks are." She sighed. "I'll call him back after work."

Her best friend had been working the hardest to set her up ever since he had driven her home from the hotel that night. It had been a fight to convince him not to kick them out of the room or at least call the manager back and give him an earful, but Rachel had made him promise not to do anything. Now, every time Kurt thought he'd found a good match for Rachel, he would call her up and not stop until she promised to go out with them. He was nearly as persistent as she was, so she always gave in, and he did have surprisingly good taste—even if the end result was always the same.

Rachel wasn't really in the mood, though she was trying to put it all behind her. The new book was coming out this week; it shouldn't have bothered her, but she felt a strong desire to curl up at home and pretend the outside world didn't exist. The book release, which was shrouded in more mystery than usual, had Kurt all the more determined to pair her up it seemed.

"He's calling again," Tina said, sounding a little surprised. "She must be gorgeous."

"Berry, have you finished that order on the new Lablancs yet?" Sue called as she came around the corner.

There was no way for the director to know about what had happened, Kurt and Tina were the only people she had told and had sworn them to secrecy, but she seemed to bring up the author endlessly now.

"I h-h-handled it a w-w-w-week ago Miss S-s-s." Her coworker's stutter came out of hiding.

"Alright, alright; I don't have all day," Miss Sylvester grumbled. "They're on their way, that's all I need to know."

The director walked away briskly to chastise a child she saw lingering suspiciously at the P-R stack in periodicals, while several other boys were huddled in the row itself.

"Ta-da!" Tina said with a flourish of her hands.

"Huh?" Rachel mumbled.

"I'm magical," the girl giggled, "I make Sylvester disappear."

The brunette smiled and thanked her friend.

"Again!" her coworker gasped as Rachel's phone buzzed again. "That's it, I'm answering it. I don't care if I am straight; if she's that amazing, I might even take her."

The petite girl laughed as Tina took off towards the break room with her phone. There were plenty of good things in her life, she reminded herself, and this was just one small part of her whole life—at least she could still laugh and have fun. She reached forward to pick up the next book without really looking, her eyes still fixed on the back hallway where her friend had disappeared, and tried to scan it. When she didn't hear the familiar 'boop' of the scanner she tried again, and then again, finally she sighed and checked the barcode. There was no barcode.

"I'm sorry, we must have missed this one before putting it out on the shelves; we don't have it marked for the system yet," she apologized as she glanced up.

The book thudded loudly against the counter and Rachel gasped.

"Q-Quinn." She wheezed. "I mean, Miss Lablanc."

The blonde looked almost as nervous as the brunette suddenly felt. They stared at each other for a moment until the woman behind Quinn cleared her throat and crossed her arms.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel wheezed again.

"It's—a long story," the blonde said. "I've meant to call you a hundred times, but I couldn't."

The woman cleared her throat again and Rachel flinched. Tina had just come rushing out of the hall, an exclamation slipping from her lips as she spotted the blonce and came skidding to a halt, phone still in hand.

"Tina," Rachel sighed, "can you help the next customer?"

The brunette stepped away from the desk and motioned for Quinn to follow her off to the side. The blonde looked back at the woman behind her, who shrugged.

"Yeah, sure, why not?" The woman sighed. "So, you've got books here?"

"Is she with you?" Rachel whispered.

"She's my new manager," Quinn explained.

"Oh." The brunette fell silent.

"Santana Lopez," the manager called, obviously listening in. "Get on with it, Q."

Quinn rolled her eyes and handed the book back to Rachel gently.

"I'm sorry I never called," the blonde began softly. "It took a few weeks to realize how stupid I had been to listen to St. James. Then I got a lawyer who said I shouldn't contact you until they settled the business with my contract. Then—"

"You have no right to just come in here and just—" Kurt exclaimed as he burst through the double doors of the library.

"Swear to god, princess stubble," Santana snapped, putting herself between the man and Quinn. "You harass my client one more time and I'm gonna stop being nice."

"It's okay, Kurt, I'm fine," Rachel mumbled, still slightly dazed.

"Yeah, that'll convince lady hands over here." The other brunette groaned, gaining her a sharp glare from the blonde.

"Continue," she said as Kurt crossed his arms.

Miss Lopez crossed her arms as well and the two seemed to be in some sort of diva-off competition of some sort as Quinn began to speak again.

"Well I hired Santana, the publishers fired Jesse, turns out he was violating the contract in all kinds of ways and it left them pretty vulnerable," the blonde explained. "After this book, I'll be starting a completely new story, and they will be publishing it."

"Oh." The brunette nodded again.

"Under my real name," the author added. "I'll be dropping the penname. The last book doesn't hit the stores until Friday, but I brought you a copy of it. Will you read it?"

Rachel looked down at the book in her hand, the last of the Lablanc series, and let out a nervous little chuckle.

"A Shining Star?" She asked.

"Yeah. You have no idea how hard Santana had to fight for that i-n-g." Quinn laughed. "Will you read it?"

"I don't know," the brunette admitted; she'd always been honest with the blonde—there was no reason to stop now.

"Fair enough," the writer tried to smile, "I'll, uh, be in town for a week."

"Though miss-bug-up-his-ass here wouldn't let us have a room, so we're at the crap hole across the street from his hotel now," Santana interjected again.

"Just in case." The author shrugged. "Whether you read it or not, I just want you to know I'm sorry, Rachel, and you're wonderful. I made a stupid choice out of fear, instead of listening to what my heart was trying to tell me. If you can't forgive me, I deserve that, but I'll be waiting anyway, just in case you can."

Rachel nodded and Quinn backed away, following her manager out the front door; before either of her friends could say anything, she walked down the hall and out the employee entrance without even collecting her things or clocking out.

* * *

It had been four days since she gave Rachel the book; tomorrow morning, A Shining Star would be available to the public, and on Saturday, she would have to give up and leave. Santana watched her from her bed, where she was typing intermittently on her laptop, and she let out an irritated sigh.

"Stop pacing," her manager grumbled. "I feel like I'm at the zoo."

"That's a good analogy," the blonde sighed, "I do kind of feel like I'm in captivity here."

"So go out for a walk or get a coffee or something." Santana shrugged.

Quinn arched an eyebrow at the woman. "Why? You want me out of the room or something?"

The brunette gave her a sly smirk. "Maybe; there's a hot blonde in this chat room. You'd like her. Apparently you've made her famous."

The blonde rolled her eyes. Her new manager was great for a lot of reasons; the woman was relentless and never backed down in negotiation, she was fully supportive of Quinn's new found orientation, and just being around the fiery brunette was bringing back her own long lost fire. They had become fast friends over the past few months; she had learned to interpret many of the girl's insults for what they really were, her way of showing affection, but the downside was Santana's opinionated nature caused her to be better in short doses.

"I'm waiting to find out if Rachel will forgive me and you're kicking me out for a hook up?" Quinn asked.

"You could stay," Santana answered lightly. "If you're into watching, perve."

"How do you even find these girls?" The blonde groaned.

"What can I say, Q, I've got more swagger than you," the brunette said seriously. "Also helps if you're not carrying a torch for someone. Shit, Q, you could at least get out there and have a little fun while you're waiting."

Quinn rolled her eyes again and pulled her coat from its hanger; as much as she hated leaving the room, she knew just waiting there was driving her insane. She also knew her manager wasn't bluffing; whether she stayed or not, there was most likely a girl on her way over.

"Keep it on your bed this time," the blonde demanded.

Santana rolled her eyes and shrugged, giving her an 'I'll do my best' look, as Quinn grabbed the room key from the bedside table and dropped it into her purse. She gave her manager one last serious glare before heading out the door. She avoided the main hallway, opting for the side exit, because she always felt it was best not to risk running into whoever Santana had invited over. Also, she didn't exactly need to have her face rubbed in the fact that everyone seemed to have somebody. She just needed to get out and try not to think about Rachel; the week seemed to be crawling by at a purposefully slow pace and the amorous couple in the room next to theirs hadn't helped.

Quinn stopped by the front desk and rang the bell.

"If a girl comes looking for me—Rachel Berry, brunette, about so tall, very pretty—can you tell her I'm out?" the blonde stated.

At this point, the blonde didn't think the brunette was going to show up, but in the off chance she did, the last thing she wanted was for Rachel to have to deal with an interrupted Santana.

"Like her?" the large man at the counter asked, pointing behind her.

Quinn spun around to see Rachel fidgeting just inside the door, book in hand, her face was turning slightly pink.

"Hi." The brunette breathed.

"Hi," She answered back as she slowly stepped up to the girl.

Rachel blinked and held up the book. "Well, I read it."

The blonde smiled nervously. "What did you think?"

"I think it was your best work so far," the girl said cheerfully.

"Good," she sighed, "because I pretty much wrote the whole book for you."

"Just the one?" Rachel asked teasingly.

"So far." Quinn nodded with a laugh. "This next one I'm writing for me."

The brunette gave her a wide smile. "I'm glad to hear that."

The man at the counter was staring, none too secretly, at them and her eyebrows furrowed a little. "Can I help you, Noah?"

"Nope," the man nodded, "you two just do your thing. I'm not even here."

Rachel took Quinn's hand and led her off to the side, into a more private area of the lobby; the blonde squeezed her hand lightly and enjoyed the contact. She glanced back at the counter, which was barely within view from where they were standing, and the man ducked back out of sight when he saw her looking. The brunette paused for a minute and then let go of her hand. The blonde sighed and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

"I'm glad you enjoyed the book," Quinn said.

"How much longer are you staying in town?" Rachel asked quickly.

"I don't know," the blonde shrugged, "we have to room until Saturday."

The room seemed to fill up with the silence as they stood there; the buzz of florescent lights seemed deafening and she could hear the man at the desk coughing.

"I imagine you're probably homesick by now," the brunette commented. "Missing your family and friends. Plus you have a new book to work on. You're probably anxious to get back."

"Not really." Quinn shrugged.

"I suppose you could write anywhere," Rachel said cautiously.

"Yeah," the blond nodded, "that's one of the perks of the job I guess."

"So, if there were some reason that you wanted to stay in Lima for a while, you could do that?" the petite girl stated.

Quinn smiled as she looked into the girl's warm brown eyes. "Yes, I suppose I could, if I had a place to stay."

The brunette cocked her head and gave her a bright smile. The blonde wasn't sure what to say; logically it was crazy to just move into town—yet her mind was already running through her current apartment, deciding what would stay and what would need to go into storage.

"You know if my rent was lower, perhaps cut in half, I could afford more trips to Broadway instead of just once a year for my birthday," Rachel mused.

Quinn's jaw dropped quickly, but then she smiled widely. "You really should get to go to New York more often."

"Can you think of anyone who might be interested?" the brunette asked.

"Are you sure?" The blonde gasped.

Rachel was quiet for a few moments before she took a step closer to her.

"What I know is that since you left, I haven't been myself. I've missed you, and I didn't even know you. I've always known there was someone out there for me—someone special who would make my knees go weak and my heart flutter. I believe that person is you and I don't know—" She paused. "I don't know if I can risk just letting you go again without at least trying."

Quinn nodded as she continued to stare at the brunette. Even if it was crazy, it made sense. She hadn't believed there was someone out there for her; the blonde had given up on the concept of soul mates after her first boyfriend in high school, the quarterback of course, but since the incident with Rachel, she had known this was the person she needed in her life.

"So," Rachel whispered nervously. "What do you think?"

Quinn pulled out her cell and dialed quickly; after a few rings she heard Santana's angry cursing over the line. She ignored the woman's angry words and simply laughed.

"Hey, San," the blonde said authoritatively into the phone, "I'm gonna need the room. Now. Yes, right now, and can you arrange to have my belongings moved here? Because that's your job, that's why." There was a pause and Quinn shot Rachel a meaningful glance. "Thanks."

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed the story. If so, please leave a little bit of feedback so I will know whether or not to continue the collection. Also, if you are interested, check out my tumblr for a poll to determine which story gets done when (the next story is already selected, so the poll would be for the third installment). At any rate, thank you for reading. **


	2. Sweets

**Second Installment. Life is sweet for Quinn Fabray; she loves her work, owns her own business, and has many friends in her little close-knit community. Her life seems complete. However, when Rachel Berry takes over the shop next door, she begins to realize there might just be one crucial thing missing in her otherwise perfect life. **

**Professions Two - Sweets – Chef/Florist.**

**Thanks to everyone so very very much for commenting and voting and supporting this effort and please continue to do so because every time I look ahead to the one-shots to come I become a little overwhelmed but I really want to stick to my goal. **

**Of course, this is an AU as well (as all of them will be) and *I do not own Glee or Glee Characters*. This installment is longer than planned (sort of got out of hand for me) so please don't be disappointed if the next one isn't quite this long. Well, hopefully, enjoy!  
**

* * *

**Sweets**

Quinn's pace quickened as she reached the door to the café; Cheerio was her business and she was always excited to start each day. The key slid into the lock and she let herself in and clicked the door locked again as she made her way to the office. Her assistant manager usually kept the books, but today was the second year anniversary of the store opening and she wanted to look over their accounts personally. The blonde flipped the accounts book open and scanned the page, letting out a soft sigh as her hazel eyes fell on their balance; things had been going well over the past two years. Quinn closed the book and smiled; it was nearly unheard of for a small business like hers to be doing so well, especially considering she had opened it directly after graduation from her culinary institute, but she never would have been able to do it without her father's funding. According to their records, they were half way through paying him back for his investment, and if things continued as they were, the café would belong to her fully in the next few years.

Cheerio was her pride and joy and February was one of their best months for business; people would stop in for coffee while shopping at the surrounding stores for gifts or flowers for Valentines Day. Her cakes and sweets had quickly become popular as gifts as well, and last year, her little bistro had been witness to several proposals. The best one, in Quinn's opinion, included the ring box as a decoration on top of one of her signature cupcakes that she allowed the nervous boy to deliver to his fiancé while disguised as a waiter. She was sure to have double the business this month, if not triple, and she closed the office door behind her as she all but skipped into the kitchen to set up for the day's baking. The bell jingled above the door and she smiled; by the pattering sound of footsteps, she could tell that Brittany had arrived for her shift, and the other blonde really did skip into the kitchen to greet her.

"Good morning!" Brittany chimed as she twirled past her and put on an apron.

"Good morning." Quinn returned the greeting with a smile.

The bubbly blonde was her best employee—though to be fair, she only had three employees—and everyone loved her. No one even cared if she got their order slightly off; the girl seemed to have an uncanny ability to be able to give people exactly what they wanted, even if it wasn't exactly what they ordered. The bell jingled again and the two could hear the other two coworkers murmuring to each other in the dinning area. Terri popped her head into kitchen quickly and let out an exasperated little sigh.

"Brittany, your hairnet," the assistant manager chastised.

"She's not baking, Terri," Quinn corrected lightly. "She'll be decorating the front windows today anyway."

"But she's in the kitchen; you have to have a hairnet on if you're in the kitchen." Terri sighed.

Kitty brushed past her to grab an apron.

"I suppose that means I'm stuck handling the counter alone today?" the younger employee said with thinly veiled annoyance.

"Only the first few hours, Kitty, and I'll be able to help some too once I get everything started," Quinn assured her.

Her latest hire was popular with the customers as well, but she seemed to always be in competition with the other blonde. She'd even brought in her own separate tip jar; now, both jars set cutely decorated on either side of the register, but Brittany's was always a little fuller than Kitty's and that seemed to spur the girl on all the more. Quinn remembered feeling that competitive—the fire and determination that could only be sated with victory; she would have discouraged it, but Brittany didn't seem to notice that they were competing at all.

"Brittany is doing the display?" Terri asked nervously.

Her assistant manager was a control freak, which was extremely good for business, but not so wonderful in other aspects, and Quinn could tell that Terri would be watching the other girl's every move and micromanaging the task until it was complete.

"Everyone loved her Christmas decorations so much, remember?" Quinn said sternly. "How many people came in over the holidays just to complement them and ended up staying to eat?"

Terri nodded happily and disappeared into the office to look over their records. Brittany scurried out of the kitchen and down the hall towards the little storage room to retrieve the decorations. The assistant manage held out for record time, ten minutes by Quinn's count, before she left the office to monitor the girl's progress. She sighed and turned her attention back to the ingredients in front of her; baking always made her feel better and she felt lucky to be doing it for a living.

"When does the florist shop next door open up again?" Kitty asked from the doorway. "These fake flowers are tacky; I don't see why you don't let me go down a couple blocks to get real ones."

Quinn had almost forgotten that today was the day their neighboring store was reopening; the two gentlemen who ran the store had decided to retire and hand the shop over to their daughter and it had been over a month since they had temporarily shut down to help her move and show her the bookkeeping. The baker had never met their daughter, but they spoke of her fondly and often; she wondered how much of what they said was true and how much of it was simply parent's pride talking. There had been an understanding between them; she gave them free coffee and sweets in the morning and they always brought her a lovely arrangement of flowers in a simple pitcher once a week. Quinn wondered if their daughter would continue that tradition.

Many of the shop owners on their little street were eager to meet the new florist; to them the street was more than a block of stores—it was a community with a life of its own. McKinley Court was an eclectic old street with mismatched store fronts that still somehow managed to look like they all belonged together; Quinn remembered her father's uneasiness when she showed him the building that was now Cheerio. Mr. Fabray would have much preferred for her to pick a newer building in a busier section of town, but she couldn't explain it; she had simply fallen in love with the street and the quirky little storefront and she couldn't shake it. As with many things before, her father had agreed and indulged her and she had never regretted her choice.

By now, the blonde knew McKinley Court nearly as well as the home she grew up in, but she had to admit, surprisingly, she loved it more dearly than her childhood home or even the town she had grown up in. To the left of Cheerio was an empty building, but beyond that was a quant antique shop, McKinley Court Treasures, and like many of the stores on the street, it had been passed down from family member to family member and now rested in the care of Blaine Anderson. Across the street from Treasures, as most locals called it, was a family owned pizzeria called Snixx. Quinn remembered the manager of the restaurant, Santana Lopez, had initially been wary of the blonde's shop opening up; there were no other places to eat on the little block at the time and that meant competition, but in time, she had accepted the little bakery and considered it no threat to her own business. As Miss Lopez had put it, "I don't do sweet" and soon they had become friends; their common goals and struggles made it easy to vent to each other when times would get tough in the slow months.

Two empty buildings lay between Snixx and a small bookstore called The Book Case, which had only opened a year ago. It was run by a newly wed couple, the Chang-Cohen-Chang's, and the funding to open the little store had been a wedding present from their families. Mike had been the young man dressed as a waiter when he proposed to Tina in Quinn's store and their picture, as well as other happy couples who had popped the question within the homey walls of the bakery, hung on the wall, next to the counter. They were still in their first year of business and were still struggling to keep the rent on their little building paid; Mike had begun teaching dance classes out of the store as well to bring in more revenue. Tina often daydreamed out loud over the coffee she ordered for them both in the mornings that someday they would expand into the empty building next door so he could have a proper dance studio.

Directly next to The Book Case was The Music Peddler; which mostly sold music, but also had some instruments and supplies for sale. It was owned by a Mr. Schuester, though no one besides his employees had ever met him, and run by three co-managers who also served as salesmen. Quinn would laugh and shrug when Noah, Joe, or Rory would come in to order; they would usually grumble about each other. Each one seemed sure they had the best idea of how to improve the store, but the ideas never went into practice because none of the young men could convince their co-managers whose plan should be put into action first. The store did well, though, despite the strange division of responsibility.

Wheelhouse Theater was located next to the music store and was owned by Mr. Arthur Abrams; the little one screen dollar theater wasn't wildly popular, but on occasion, the owner and operator would rent it out for private parties or do a holiday themed line of up of movies and locals from town would flock in before forgetting about the slightly worn down movie house again. Mr. Abrams usually seemed more preoccupied with his own dreams of filmmaking and had a soft spot for independent artists, which meant that would-be directors often had a chance to see their work on the big screen before they entered their pieces into film festivals. A cute little house was on the lot next to Wheelhouse Theater, but instead of people, it housed a huge selection of dolls, toys, costumes, and play accessories; Sugar Motta ran the toy store Sugar Dolls, but it was more appropriate to say she played there while her assistant manager and workers ran it.

Another empty store sat between the toy store and a jewelry shop named Unique; when Quinn had first opened Cheerio, she had thought that it was run by a couple, but as it turned out Wade Adams only put on his suit and tie to conduct important business with his more conservative clients. Back across the street sat the last of the empty store fronts next to Divana, another relatively knew business that was run by Kurt Hummel and Mercedes Jones, both of which still had to keep their part time jobs to keep the clothing store open. Mr. Hummel worked part time with Mr. Anderson at Treasures and Miss Jones put many hours at Unique after it closed, doing inventory for Wade. The two seemed happy, despite their heavy work load, and most of the other shopkeepers were rooting for their store to take off and do well. The last shop, which sat brightly on Cheerio's left, was Nature's Glee, the florist shop. The little store was nearly identical to the coffee shop except for the paint job and the fact that it was slightly taller, which accommodated a small apartment on the second story.

As Quinn slid a pan of cupcakes into the large oven and set the timer, she envied some of the other shopkeepers slightly; no doubt they would have good excuses to stay close to their front windows and watch for a glimpse of the elusive Rachel Berry, but the blonde would be in her kitchen most of the day. She sighed and turned her attention back to making one of her signature frostings to go on the sweets that were now baking. The sun wasn't even up yet; she had to start very early to have her treats ready for customers who would stop in for their morning coffee, but she knew the sky was probably just now starting to warm with hazy shades of dawn. Quinn slid a few more cooking sheets, heavy with simple pastries, into another oven and inhaled deeply as the smell of fresh coffee wafted from the front of the store. As she put the frosting into the fridge to chill, she counted herself lucky to be doing something that made her so happy for a living.

Terri's sharp sighs and poorly contained groans drifted in with the pleasant aroma of java and Quinn popped her head out the kitchen door to watch her assistant manager pacing as Brittany decorated the front window. Kitty didn't look too thrilled to be left alone to set up, but smiled a bright, if not forced, smile when she saw Quinn watching them. The owner smiled back and left the kitchen briefly, darting behind the counter to turn the music on in hopes that it would lighten the mood, and called to Terri that it was time for her to do an inventory check. They would be opening in an hour and she knew once customers began to filter in, the older woman would busy herself in the office with calls and order requests. Brittany bobbed along to the lively music as she continued hanging decorations and Terri scurried past Quinn to begin the stock check.

"Remember, Terri, if you're going to be in the kitchen, you have to put on a hairnet," Quinn said teasingly.

* * *

Rachel Berry would have liked to go around and meet the store owners on McKinley Court before today, but everything had been so hectic that there simply hadn't been time. Between the move, which had mostly taken place in the late evenings, her father's showing her all the details of their bookkeeping, and dealing with the still lingering issues from her recent divorce, the brunette seemed to be constantly stuck indoors or in her car. It had been a shock when her fathers had called her a mere three months ago to tell her they planned to retire and hand their shop over to her, but Rachel knew that it probably had more to do with them wanting to get her out of Lima and out of her rut than actually wanting to start their retirement early. Back in her now distant town, she had been running deliveries for a florist shop as well as several other jobs to help support her now ex-husband and herself. They had offered for her to come live in the apartment above their shop as soon as she had called them with the news that she and Finn could no longer make the marriage work, but her pride had stopped her. Now that they made it clear they were retiring, Rachel couldn't stand the thought of their family business being sold off after so many generations of Berrys passing down the quaint little shop, so she had decided that it was time to put Lima, and Finn, behind her completely.

She had met Finn Hudson in college, but after he lost his football scholarship in the first year, Rachel had accepted his proposal and returned with him to his hometown. The brunette had never considered how uncharacteristic it was of her to abandon everything she had been working for to the boy; her usual need to plan and analyze every move had been utterly overshadowed by his pleading eyes and endearing smile. She had always considered herself to be the lucky one, the one he had picked out over all the cheerleaders that pounded down his door, and her usual determined and tenacious spirit had wavered on nearly ever issued that ever came up between them—until Barbra. He had apologized, begged, and swore he would never see the other woman again, but the damage had been done, and Rachel's resolve had suddenly returned; the brunette had taken a good hard look at the sacrifices she had made and knew it was enough—more than enough. The anger and indignation had been enough to carry the brunette through the first few months, but in time, the hurt burned through. She was determined that with this fresh start, she would put it all aside and delve into work until the lingering stings of betrayal faded.

With all the effort and chaos of moving and setting up shop, she had only had the chance to get reacquainted with one person in town, Sam Evans, the florist shops delivery boy, but he was a friendly faced young man and his sunny personality gave Rachel hope that McKinley Court would be every bit as friendly as she remembered it from when she was a teen. She could see that some of the stores had closed and were now either still empty or had new owners, but some were still as she remembered them. The brunette couldn't wait to have a slice of pizza from Snixx, if they still had their veggie pizza, and wander through the isles of Treasures much like she had as a young girl. The same two stunning antique masquerade masks that she had often gazed at longingly for as long as she could remember was still the focal point of the front window display; the sight of it as she drove back and forth, in the early morning and late night, took her back to a happier and more hopeful time.

Today would be the grand re-opening of Nature's Glee and Rachel woke hours earlier than necessary; she was a nervous ball of enthusiasm and no matter how tightly she squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to sleep another hour or two, her mind refused to comply. The brunette finally resolved to give in to her excitement and bounded out of bed. She peaked out the tiny window of her room, which faced the street, but there was little to see in the still dark hours before dawn. The refurbished old style street lamps glowed clearly in the crisp morning air and a street sweeper was making its noisy rounds down the court.

"This is a fresh start," Rachel said slowly to herself. "This is your chance to be Rachel Berry again and this time do it right."

The brunette jumped a little and ducked out of the window when she saw movement on the street; it was a blonde, bundled against the chill, and Rachel watched as she breezed past the shop below and stopped in front of the building next door. The brunette inched back in front of the window timidly and peered down at the woman as she searched through her keys and let herself into the café next door. Her fathers had talked about Cheerio and its owner before; they had said she was a lovely young lady and Rachel had always assumed they merely meant in personality and demeanor. They had said she was pretty, but that was an understatement, and Rachel glanced at the mirror across the room. Her new start was already off to a shaky start as her insecurities flared up. She left the window and sat at the mirror, grabbing her brush to manage her tangled hair, while she stared down her reflection.

"I'm not going to do this," she said with determination. "I am simply going to be me and be satisfied with that. I will not compare myself to every gorgeous woman who passes down the street."

Despite her resolute tone, the image of the woman's graceful gait and elegant form still played through her mind, and she didn't seem able to shake it. Rachel turned to the outfit she had selected for the day and smiled; it was her favorite dress, and she had left many of old clothes behind in an attempt to shed the past. The brunette threw on her bathrobe and left the room, heading for the kitchen, and remembered to be cautious as she made her way through the living room. She had stubbed her toes several times in the new surroundings, but she was beginning to get her bearings. The woman remembered sneaking into the unused apartment above her fathers' shop when she was in high school and imagining life on her own, but her daydreams had never been quite like this.

Rachel flicked the light switch in the kitchen and pulled her pre-prepared meal out of the fridge. One of her fathers, she presumed LeRoy, had left behind several nice meals neatly labeled and stacked for her. She fingered the little note that had been on top of today's breakfast and smiled; Hiram's quick and slightly sloppy handwriting wished her a happy first day and conveyed both their love and well wishes. The tiny gesture warmed her heart and the day already seemed a little brighter.

Thanks to her early waking, she had time for a long, relaxing shower and more than enough time to clear the dishes from the sink and fuss with the tidiness of the little rooms of her new home. When her alarm finally sounded, since she had forgotten to turn it off when she left the bedroom, she was left with more than enough time to ready herself for the day.

Downstairs, Rachel turned on the lights and as the fluorescent tubes buzzed lazily to life, she scurried to the front door and looked out at the slowly waking street. When the brunette turned to get an idea of what the little shop would look like to any customers, she couldn't suppress a wide grin. The bright flowers, assorted gifts, and sparkling vases were a cheery sight and she thought to herself how lucky she was that her days would be surrounded by such beauty and gaiety. She all but danced her way back to the counter and shuffled through her music selections until she settled on a play list for the day.

A shrill tone blared from the back room and she heard her employee's panicked grumbling and the beeping of the keypad, but the piercing tone did not stop. Rachel covered her ears and hurried through the swinging door and brushed past Sam to punch in the proper code.

"I'm sorry," Sam apologized with a lopsided smile.

"Don't be silly," Rachel smiled in relief when the alarm finally stopped, "I shouldn't have changed to code in the first place."

Her delivery boy's weak smile made it obvious that it wasn't the change of numbers that had thrown him off.

"I'm not really great with numbers," he admitted.

"Then I will just have to remember to unarm it when I come downstairs from now on." The brunette nodded as he followed her back to the front room.

"Wow, you and your dads really changed things around while I was gone," Sam commented. "It looks cool, though."

"Thank you," she said cheerfully.

Rachel went back to her tasks while Sam shifted aimlessly around the room, every now and then executing a little dance move with the music, and he seemed unsure of what to do.

"Are there any deliveries today?" he asked.

The brunette giggled a little as she answered him. "I think we have to have customers first."

The minute the words left her lips she regretted them, not because they might offend the blonde boy, but because they brought reality looming back into view. This week was a very important week; it would set the tone for the year's business. Her fathers' customers were a loyal bunch, but there was no guarantee that they would return now that she was the owner. What if they had decided to take their business elsewhere during the month the store was fully closed? What if her advertisements for the reopening were not good enough? Rachel shuddered to think of the day going by without a single customer. As though he sense her stress, Sam picked a fluffy stuffed bear off the shelf he was next to; he held it up and put on a comically gruff voice.

"I pity the fool who doesn't buy our flowers!" he said as he bobbled the bear's head.

Rachel tilted her head slightly and he looked at her with an encouraging smile.

"It's Mr. T Bear." Sam explained brightly and she laughed.

She turned her attention back to her schedule book and looked back up.

"Well, you won't be bored all day, Mr. Evans," she said lightly. "We have delivery coming in the afternoon."

"You can call me Sam," he reminded her again.

"Alright," Rachel replied cheerfully. "The van should arrive around 2:30, Sam."

The clock chimed from the wall above the counter and the brunette tried to calm her nerves as she crossed the room to unlock the front door and flip the sign to 'open'. When she turned back around, Sam was collecting a stack of brightly colored flyers from the counter and checking his watch.

"So, until 2:00 I'll be out handing these babies out," he said lightly, taking note of her nervously fidgeting with her hands.

"That sounds good." She nodded. "Stop back in whenever you need something to drink or eat."

"Don't worry, Miss Berry," Sam said confidently as he put on a thick accent. "I have 'vays of making them shop."

The blonde boy headed for the door before she stopped him.

"Sam," The brunette called and he stopped with the door halfway open to listen to what she had to say. "Rachel is fine; you can call me Rachel."

He gave her a large grin and nodded as he exited the building, leaving her a lone to her first day. A half hour ticked by and nothing had happened; she assured herself that it was nothing to worry about. Who needed flowers at seven in the morning? _Someone will come_, she promised herself, _any minute now someone will be in if for nothing more than curiosity_. Rachel wished she had something to do, but her fathers had caught everything up for her to make the first days easier. It was a thoughtful move, in theory, but now it left her with little to distract herself; so, she did the only thing she could think of—she began exploring the shelves beneath the counters.

Mostly the shelves contained basic supplies, but something eventually caught her eye, tucked in the corner, and she pulled it out and dusted it off. The classically simple clear pitcher seemed out of place in the florist shop; a worn ribbon hung loosely around the neck of the squat container and she pulled the frayed red and green material free. Rachel stared down and struggled to remember if she had ever seen it here before. The shuffling of feet made her jump a little and her brown eyes shot up to meet a pair of glasz eyes that watched her with amusement. She berated herself inwardly for not noticing that someone had entered the store, considering she had been watching the door so closely, and tried to summon up a smile for the young man across from her.

"Welcome to Nature's Glee," Rachel chimed as she tucked the pitcher back under the counter. "How may I help you?"

"Am I your first customer of the day?" the man asked with a serious look on his face.

She was taken aback slightly but smiled again as she answered. "Well, yes, you are actually."

A triumphant smile spread across his face and she caught herself before tilting her head at him. He let out a little laugh.

"It's just that I'm surprised," he explained. "Everyone has been dying to meet the elusive new shop-keep and I thought for sure they would have swarmed the minute you opened the door." He leaned forward as though he were going to whisper something but his voice didn't lower as he added, "they're all such terrible gossips around here."

"I see." Rachel nodded, unsure of how to properly respond to him.

"And I'm not better," the man laughed, sticking out his hand for a handshake, "but I am really glad that I got to be the first to say hello and welcome you to the court. My name is Kurt Hummel. I run the shop next door, Divana, and it's nice to meet you."

"Oh!" she exclaimed a little, glad that the awkwardness was over. "I've seen your store; I love the logo. I'm Rachel Berry."

"I know," Kurt said offhandedly. "But it's good to be properly introduced."

She let out a little laugh and smiled back at him.

"I'd like to buy an arrangement from you, as a proper welcome to the street," he added.

"Thank you," Rachel said happily. "What size?"

Mr. Hummel cleared his throat as he peaked into his wallet. "Just something small and simple."

"No problem." She smiled. "Would you want one of the pre-arranged or something fresh?"

"Oh, it has to be fresh," Kurt answered laughingly. "And it looks like you would like the distraction."

"Very much so," Rachel responded gratefully.

Once he had made his selections, Kurt watched as Rachel arranged the flowers neatly in a small frosted vase. The florist noted how his fingers tapped and twitched on the counter along to the music playing over the speakers. She smiled as she held up a few different colors and widths of ribbon for him to pick from.

"Are you enjoying the music?" she asked as she fished the bow around the vase.

"Yes." Kurt sighed. "I have a weakness for Broadway."

"I knew you'd be a kindred spirit," she teased as she handed over the arrangement.

"Well, maybe you'll return the favor some time," Kurt replied as he handed over the money for the flowers. "I think I have a few things next door that you might like, or need."

Rachel gave him a shocked look and he tried to wave off his previous comment.

"I didn't mean it like that. Your look is—" the young man paused slightly, "cute."

The brunette chewed her lip but decided not to push the issue by asking what he meant by 'cute' and instead, decided to let the possible dig slide.

"Maybe I will take a look some time this week," she assured him and he ducked back out the door with a nod.

Rachel pulled the pitcher back up onto the counter; she felt like there was something she was forgetting. A few minutes later, it dawned on her that her fathers had talked about a deal with the neighboring store owner and she smiled. The brunette set to work on a bouquet to carry on their tradition; it was something to distract herself as time ticked by with no customers. Soon the unorthodox vessel was home to several white roses, red carnations, pink lilies, and the standard green fillers; Rachel tied a deep red ribbon edged with silver around the pitcher's neck and took a step back to admire her work. She was pleased with it; the multicolored confetti hearts that had been sprinkled into the water caught on some of the stems—something she had always wanted to try and was glad to see looked quite nice.

The sun was now brightly shinning through her front window, and despite its invigorating presence, her early morning, on top of the weeks of heavy preparation, was catching up to her and she yawned. Rachel tiredly swept the debris from her project from the counter, into the waste basket; it was far too early in the day to be this tired. The brunette turned the music up slightly and tried to think of a way to shake the lingering sleepiness while she waited for a chance to take the arrangement next door. She looked up when Sam came back inside, his stack of flyers still nearly as thick as when he left, and leaned against the counter.

"No one's out shopping yet," he said quickly. "But I did get everyone on the block to put one of these bad boys in their windows. Some of the shops around the corner too, but I figured I'd come back in and warm up a little if that's okay."

"Of course," Rachel said brightly. "That is a very good start. Would you mind tending the counter for a few minutes?"

She was eager to stretch her legs and maybe sample some coffee and treats, but more than anything, she just wanted a quick break from the waiting.

"Sure, no problem-o," Sam agreed. "But I don't know how to arrange flowers. I mean, I tried once and it kind of looked like—well, it wasn't good, but I could try again if I had to I guess."

Rachel scribbled her number, though she knew he already had it, on a name card and taped it to the register before picking up the pitcher gently by the handle.

"Call me if you need an arrangement made," she said casually. "But I shouldn't be gone for more than a few minutes. Do you want anything from next door?"

"Gunning for my job, boss?" Sam said jokingly. "Just tell Brittany that Sam wants the usual."

The brunette bobbed her head at him at the door. As the door closed behind her, she was fairly sure she heard him add "don't let Kitty take the order" but since the comment didn't make any sense, she shrugged it off as she made her way carefully towards Cheerio. The bell jingled over her head as she entered the café and she made a mental note to consider installing one in her own store; the small dining area only had one customer, who was picking delicately at a cinnamon bun, and a blonde girl at the counter broke into an instantly infectious grin when she caught sight of the flowers.

"Oh my god! They're beautiful!" the girl squealed as she bounced up and down in place. "They look just like what being in love feels like."

Rachel gave her a warm smile; the other blonde at the counter caught her eye as she snatched the fake flowers from their shelf and chucked them unceremoniously into the waste bin. The girl, whose nametag read Kitty, turned back triumphantly and eyed her calculatedly, which made the brunette instantly self-conscious.

"What's going on out here?" yet another blonde, the one from this morning, demanded as she stepped out of the kitchen and spotted the discarded flowers.

"She's here!" Brittany, as her nametag indicated, answered her. "Look at the flowers!"

Rachel's breath caught curiously in her throat as the woman's hazel eyes trailed from the pitcher of flowers up to her face. She continued to stand frozen in the doorway of the café, her mind suddenly blank, and the chef didn't move from her spot in the archway of the kitchen. The brunette shook her head and cleared her throat; she took a quick step forward towards the counter and broke eye contact with the other shop owner.

"Hello," Rachel began, finally finding her voice again. "I'm Rachel Berry. I took over the shop next door from my fathers."

She noted the girl named Kitty's nose wrinkle a little but tried to ignore it.

"At any rate, I found this while setting up shop this morning and remembered that they mentioned they always supplied you with an arrangement each week," she continued. "So I thought it would be a nice way to introduce myself."

Rachel held out the pitcher and held her breath; she had hoped she was past being intimidated by the typical pretty blonde girl, but now she was faced with three of them and her long forgotten high school scars were creeping back. She smiled again and reminded herself that this was not high school or college and these women probably had better things to do than mock her. The owner brushed past her employees and took the flowers from her gently, careful not to disturb the arrangement, and placed on a high shelf behind the counter; the light from outside hit it and sent little rainbows of light against the wall.

"Thank you, Ms. Berry," she said when she turned back around. "I was hoping to stop by your store to greet you. My name is Quinn Fabray, this is Kitty Wilde—"

"And I'm Brittany," the other girl interrupted happily.

"Pierce," Quinn finished for her. "Welcome to the court."

"Thank you." Rachel nodded back. "I love your café; it's lovely."

"Thank you, Ms. Berry," the business owner said again.

"You can call me Rachel," she suddenly blurted, shaking her head again, and clearing her throat. "I mean there is no need to be so formal; I'm fine with simply being called Rachel, if you like."

The blonde blinked her hazel eyes a few times before smiling and nodding.

"Okay, Rachel," she said. "You can call me Quinn if you like."

"I would like that," Rachel said, feeling stupid as the words left her lips. "Quinn."

Quinn looked as though she were about to respond when a light beeping came from the other room; the blonde turned quickly and retreated into the kitchen. Rachel felt a light tap on her shoulder and turned to see the girl who had been eating a cinnamon bun earlier.

"I'm sorry," the customer said nervously. "I couldn't help but overhear. I'm Tina. My husband and I own The Book Case across the street. I just wanted to say hello."

"Hello," Rachel said brightly and extending her hand. "I really can't wait to get a chance to visit your shop."

"Me either," Tina replied. "I always loved stopping in when your fathers ran it."

"Hey, that's sweet," Brittany bubbled. "Mike's—ouch."

Rachel spun around to see Kitty giving Brittany a withering stare before slipping a smile back on quickly.

"Clumsy me. Sorry. I have your coffees," Kitty snapped, turning her attention from Brittany to Tina and holding out the steaming cups. "Now that you're done with breakfast."

"Thank you," Tina said as she tossed a few coins into each tip jar. "Maybe I'll see you soon then?"

"I certainly hope so," Rachel said as she waved goodbye to the girl.

The brunette turned back around to the counter.

"Oh, that reminds me," She said, addressing Brittany and avoiding eye contact with the other girl. "Sam said he would like the usual and I would like a soy latte with just a dash of nutmeg, please."

The cheery blonde smiled and spun around lightly to start the order. Rachel fished in her jacket pocket for her money; more to avoid the other waitress's stare than anything else. Brittany soon returned with a ridiculously sweet looking drink, a cannoli, Rachel's drink, and a brownie. She set the order on a tray, on the counter, and scooted it towards her. The brunette blinked.

"Oh," Brittany said offhandedly, "I know you didn't order the brownie, but I'm not charging you for it and you want it."

"That's not really necessary," Rachel said, scooting the tray a little back towards the girl.

"It's totally okay," Brittany insisted. "It's vegan and gluten free. They're really good!"

She didn't show any sign of backing down and Rachel looked down at the brownie, still warm and steaming, and realized she really did want it.

"Thank you." She smiled. "I'll pay for it though. I insist."

The girl looked a little disappointed, but took the money and began counting out the change. Rachel's phone began ringing in her pocket and she pulled it out quickly, suddenly realizing that she had been gone from Nature's Glee longer than she had planned, and assured Sam that she was on her way. The brunette scooped up the tray and told Brittany to keep the change as she hurried back towards the door.

"I'll come by for the tray later," Brittany called after her as she divided the change equally between the two tip jars, which caused the girl next to her to roll her eyes.

* * *

The brownies were barely out of the oven and cut before Brittany skidded into the kitchen and grabbed one, letting out a quick little yelp at the heat of it before dropping it onto the paper plate, and disappearing again. Quinn smiled and eyed the first aid kit by the door, wondering if her employee would be back in needing it, and finished arranging them on the display tray next to other freshly made pastries and sweets. The bell rang over the door as she carried the tray out to the shelf; she cast a quick glance to the fresh flowers and beamed—her little tradition was alive and well after all. Quinn turned to thank their neighbor again, but only saw Brittany dividing a large sum of money between the two tip jars.

"She's left already?" Quinn asked, her voice heavy with disappointment.

"Yeah, but I said I'd go get the tray back later," Brittany chirped. "It's the least I can do; this was a huge tip. I should really use the calculator to share it right."

"Ugh," Kitty grumbled. "Don't; we're not supposed to share tips. I'll never know how much I got if you keep doing that."

"Of course you will," Brittany replied. "You'll empty the jar and count it. You can even use my calculator. It's shaped like a kitty—Tubbington kitty, not you kitty."

The other blonde stomped off as Quinn eyed the excessive tip.

"I have one shaped like a frog too if you don't want the other one!" the giddy girl called after her. "I think she's oversensitive about being named after a cat."

"Did Miss Berry pay for her order?" Quinn asked quickly.

"But she could be named after so many worse things." The other girl pouted a little as she mused. "It's not fair that she hates cats just because she's named after one. What if they'd named her doggy or pony?"

"Brittany," her boss groaned, "did she pay for the order."

"Her middle name is probably people or human," the other girl continued. "Because most of the time, she seems to hate them too."

"Britt!" Quinn snapped, catching the girl's attention, and then took a deep breath to compose herself. "Did Rachel pay for her coffee and food?"

"Of course she did," Brittany said with a look of confusion. "If she didn't, that'd be stealing and I she seems a lot nicer than that."

Quinn rushed to the back for her coat and then back out into the dining area; she stopped quickly at the counter.

"Okay, I'll be right back," she said briskly. "If anything beeps in the kitchen—"

"Get an oven mitt _before_ taking it out of the oven." Brittany nodded.

"Yes," Quinn breathed.

The shop seemed bigger than the last time she had been inside it; Rachel's new layout had really opened the place up and Quinn stood patiently as she waited for the other store owner to notice her. From the look of things, it might be a while before the brunette would get a chance to acknowledge her; Unique stood at the counter and seemed to be in full diva mode.

"Unique needs three large arrangements," Unique was saying with her hands as much as her voice. "Unique has had a very good holiday season and with Valentine's Day coming up, I want my customers to feel like they are falling in love with my jewelry."

"I can do that," Rachel replied with a huge smile.

"And I want a small bouquet, but not too nice," Unique continued. "I'll put it with the cheaper goods, so they can see the difference between that and the cheaper options."

"Alright, I think I can do that." The brunette giggled.

"Men can be so clueless when it comes to jewelry," the customer said gravely. "No stunning young lady wants to receive a bracelet her grandmother would wear, so they're lucky Unique is here to set their men straight before too much damage is done."

"I imagine they are." Rachel nodded happily as she began clipping a few rose stems.

Quinn was beginning to think she should leave; the florist was obviously busy and Unique would be making loud small talk for quite a while. Just as she was about to turn to leave, Rachel glanced her way.

"Miss Fabray!" She smiled brightly and Quinn felt a strange tingle in her stomach. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you come in. Is there something that you need?"

She was blushing, though she had no idea why, and she hurried up to the register with a giddy smile.

"You weren't supposed to pay for your order," she said softly. "The tradition is that I get a free arrangement and you get free coffee, and you're supposed to call me Quinn. Right, Rachel?"

"You're right, Quinn." The other girl's cheeks colored as she nodded.

"Here," Quinn said hurriedly as she held out a handful of bills. "I didn't have the heart to take Brittany's tip from her, but this should cover it."

"Oh, no," Rachel gushed as she pushed some of the money back. "I wouldn't want to take her tip back. She earned that."

"I'm not taking her tip, I'm just covering it," the blonde insisted, pushing the bills back.

"You earned it, too," the brunette said, crossing her arms.

"The chef never gets a tip," Quinn pointed out.

"Well, she is today," Rachel said with a giggle. "I'm only accepting back the cost of my and Sam's order."

Quinn was about to argue, but Unique cleared her throat and Rachel had already gone back to measuring stem length. The jewelry store owner was looking at her like she knew something the blonde didn't and the baker shrugged and crossed her arms as well.

"Mmm, you're not gonna win against this one, honey; I can already tell she and I are cut from the same cloth," Unique commented.

The brunette already had a triumphant grin on her face and the blonde did something she'd almost never done before in her life—she backed down.

"Alright," Quinn conceded, sliding the cash back into her pocket. "But next time, don't even think of paying for your order. You got that?"

"I'll make a note of it, yes," Rachel teased lightly. "Thank you once again, Quinn."

"Anytime, Rachel," she mimicked back. "I'd better go before Brittany tries to cook something."

"You left that poor girl alone?" Unique gasped.

"She's not alone, she's with Kitty," the blonde defended.

"Oh lordy," Unique responded. "That's worse."

"Bye," Quinn called as she left the store.

"Until next time," Rachel returned as the door closed.

The blonde caught her breath outside the store and shook her head several times as she walked back inside, excusing her way past several customers. Terri was flitting about the café, looking panicked as usual; when she spotted Quinn, she put her hands on her hips and sighed, as usual, which made the baker feel like she was about to be scolded by her mother. She smiled brightly and hung up her coat.

"It's our rush hour," Terri began sharply.

Quinn glanced to the counter and then sharply back to her assistant manager.

"Things seem to be moving along fine." She shrugged as she slipped back into her kitchen attire.

"But what if—" Terri tried to keep her momentum going.

"I was gone for ten minutes, Terri, and as you can see—" Quinn retorted with a gesture around the room, "Cheerio has yet to burn down in my absence."

"But—" the older woman faltered.

"Are you done with the inventory yet?" the boss turned the tables on her.

"No," Terri snapped softly, "of course, I should get back to that."

Truth be told, Quinn rarely struggled with Terri; the woman was a little overbearing, but in the end, it was usually for the greater good. Cheerio was Quinn's life and Terri was always there insisting it be a well oiled machine; it was the very reason the young business owner had chosen her for the job in the first place. Today, however, the blonde bristled at being treated like she had caught doing something wrong and she brushed past the older woman and returned to work feeling uneasy—and giddy.

* * *

The first week had gone surprisingly well, even by Rachel's high standards, and orders were beginning to pour in. The brunette disabled the alarm before making her way to her order book to look over the weeks deliveries. There were already some overlapping orders for Valentine's Day and she was going to have to find someone to help with them; she chewed her lower lip and wondered if she had perhaps overstepped her reach by promising musical deliveries. The idea had come suddenly when she realized that Sam had a decent singing voice, and she had been right that it would give her store an edge, but now it would make her search for a second delivery person all the more difficult. If she could afford to shut down the shop for the day, the problem would be solved, but as it was, she needed to be there to rescue the last minute shoppers from themselves.

There was a girl already outside waiting for the store to open, bundled against the chill, and Rachel sighed; she hated doing things out of proper order, but she couldn't keep a customer shivering in the cold when they could clearly see her through the window.

"We're not open yet, but please do come inside and get warm," she said briskly as she locked the door back behind the young girl.

"I, um," the girl stammered, "I'm actually here because I saw the sign on your door for the temporary work."

"Oh." Rachel gasped. "Then this is a very good time for you to have come, but why didn't you call?"

The girl looked down. "I guess I was just afraid you would say no flat out over the phone."

"I would never do that," Rachel lied. "Well, I suppose the first question would be what your name is?"

"Marley," she responded shyly.

"Alright, Marley," Rachel said. "Do you know your way around town and do you have a vehicle?"

"I have a bike," Marley said nervously, blushing a little. "I know my way around town really well, though."

The brunette was already a little worried; the girl seemed so shy and nervous and if she only had a bike, that would leave her only useful for the closer deliveries.

"Can you sing?" Rachel asked.

"I love to sing." Marley smiled for the first time.

"Alright," the brunette gave her a lopsided smile. "Would you mind to sing something for me?"

"A-Alright," The girl responded.

Rachel nodded and headed off to turn the music off; this girl didn't seem to have to confidence it took to sing, especially for strangers. The minute the music shut off, Marley began and Rachel turned sharply on her heel. By the time the song was done, the florist had joined in, and Sam was standing transfixed in the back doorway. Marley smiled as he began clapping and cheering and Rachel rolled her eyes at herself—she'd find a way to make it work.

Now that Sam was there, she would be able to leave the store to him until time to open; she assured the girl that she could come by tomorrow to fill out all the paperwork required as she held the door for her. Marley skipped away down the street and Rachel ducked down the alleyway. She hadn't even knocked at the door before it opened and Quinn smiled down at her.

"You're late," the blonde chastised teasingly.

"Well that's to be expected," the brunette said offhandedly. "I had an interview to conduct."

"You didn't tell me about an interview," Quinn said with an exaggerated frown.

"I didn't know that I had one." Rachel giggled. "She was waiting outside the store this morning. Very early; she must really want the job, and she has the most amazing voice. Not as good as mine, but then who does?"

"And there's no one more humble." The baker giggled.

"There is nothing wrong with appreciating ones own talent," the florist said defensively. "Wasn't it you the other day bragging about how you would be on this cities must visit spots?"

"Well you can't argue with that," Quinn shot back. "At least you've experienced my work first hand. I cook for you all the time and you've never once sang to me."

"Fine," Rachel said brightly. "Stop by after you close up someday and I'll prove it to you once and for all."

"I'll hold you to that, you know," she said sternly.

"Absolutely." The brunette nodded with a look of determination.

"If you're so sure of yourself, then you should just do it right here while I mix up this cake order," the blonde chided.

"Don't be silly," Rachel countered. "I've told you already that the acoustics in here are no good."

They both laughed; Quinn rolled her eyes and gave her a look that clearly said _you're-full-of-it_ and Rachel leaned in the doorway and watched the blonde work as they made small talk. It had only been a week and they had already started seeing each other every morning; it had started when Rachel tapped on the back door early on her second day of business with a coffee emergency. The power had inexplicably gone out in her apartment, and though she still got up on time, she was unable to make breakfast or coffee or even get her shower; so, flashlight in hand, she had made her way next door for assistance. The blonde had given her breakfast and then followed her back over and shown her how to flip the breaker.

"If you're going to be high maintenance then you have to learn how to do this yourself," Quinn had chided. "Or get a boyfriend to do it for you, but in the long run, they are more trouble than they are really worth."

Since then, Rachel had stopped by every morning to start the day with her; she was even setting her alarm for earlier to allow more time for it. She almost felt bad for being in the other woman's way and leaving Sam to open the store on his own, but it had been so long since she'd had a real friend. Rachel craved the close connection to someone and was still processing the fact that Quinn seemed to genuinely enjoy spending time with her as much as she did. The brunette was surprised how quickly she had been to share her life with the other girl and was relieved when her trust had been rewarded as the blonde shared moments from her own life as well.

"So I imagine business is going to be booming for you," the blonde commented.

"Yes, well," the brunette shrugged, "that's what I'm hoping for. I am concerned about how much everything will slow down after the holiday, though. I have been trying to come up with something to boost sales the week after, but everything I come up with honestly feels so patronizing."

"My sales stay pretty steady the week after," Quinn commented. "Then again, everyone's looking for comfort food or treating themselves. I guess it would be harder for you to bring in customers. I mean, bingeing on sweets doesn't feel as desperate as buying yourself flowers. Call it single's week or self appreciation week."

"Well, we can't all be in high demand," Rachel said with a frown. "Not everyone wants to be reminded that no one is pounding down their door for dates."

Quinn looked up from the bowl of batter and studied her new friend.

"You're not telling me there aren't at least three guys fighting over you," she said offhandedly. "What would you know about not having a date?"

"I would know very well about it, since I don't have one," Rachel responded with a sigh. "I don't expect you to understand what it's like. You're gorgeous and confident; you have your own business and you're so smart and talented."

"All the same could be said about you, you know," Quinn pointed out, her face coloring a little. "Besides, I don't have a date either."

Rachel's jaw dropped and the blonde rolled her eyes at her.

"What? I'm busy, as you pointed out, I have a business to run, and men just don't seem to get that. They expect me to drop everything and never take what I do seriously," she said with a laugh before adding. "The last date I went on literally said this: 'If you were my girl the only kitchen you'd have to cook in would be mine.' Just like that."

The brunette gave her a sympathetic look while she giggled.

"I'm serious," Quinn insisted. "They all think of this as either something I'm only doing because I have to or like it's a hobby and it's just so cute that I think it's a real job. I'm done with it. I've completely given up at this point. Until men start getting smarter, I'm done."

Rachel was quiet for a while as she watched Quinn pour the batter into a heart shaped pan and slide it into the oven. She truly couldn't imagine the blonde having trouble with dating; anyone in their right mind would want to get close to her.

"You really shouldn't give up," she commented.

"Why?" Quinn teased. "Have you met someone who's not a complete dufus?"

"If I had, would I tell you?" Rachel joked back. "The last thing I need is you stealing the last decent man in the world away from me. They'd take one look at you and next thing I would know, I'd be your maid of honor. I would insist on it since I would have been the one to introduce you. It would be the only proper thing to do."

"Who in their right mind would leave you for anyone?" the blonde chided before thinking. She bit her lip and her cheeks flushed as she gave Rachel an apologetic look. "I didn't mean that."

"No, no," Rachel tried to assure her. "I know you didn't."

"I'm such a bitch sometimes," Quinn continued to apologize. "Old habits die hard I guess."

The brunette hurried to clear things up, trying to find a way to stop her from feeling guilty, and she let out a tense laugh.

"Well you did say in their right mind," Rachel noted. "I'll take it as a complement."

Quinn didn't look convinced but let the conversation shift.

"Maybe I could call it second chance week," the brunette changed the subject easily. "That might make it seem more hopeful. Everything will be on discount anyway and it would possibly seem more like a week for people who didn't have the courage to make a big move on Valentine's Day."

"That could work," Quinn agreed.

Terri gave her a curt greeting as she exited the office, which was Rachel's cue to return to her own store. She waved goodbye and headed for the back door.

"I'm gonna take you up on that offer one of these days," Quinn warned from the other end of the hall.

"I'm quite looking forward to that, actually," Rachel replied as she closed the door securely behind her.

* * *

Quinn was exhausted as she locked up the café; it had been a long day of filling orders and getting everything set up for tomorrow, Valentine's Day. There was nothing she wanted more than to go back to her apartment, take a hot bath, and fall asleep. The lights were still on in the shop next door and she realized that Rachel must still be up working on tomorrow's arrangements; they'd only known each other for two weeks, but she felt sure the brunette was probably stressing herself out and pushing herself to the limit tonight. She sighed and made her way down the alleyway; music was blaring from the back room and she knocked several times without an answer. Quinn was about to let herself in when the door swung open and a young girl gasped and jumped, taking several steps back.

"I'm sorry, Miss Fabray," Marley said quickly. "You scared me. I probably scared you too."

Quinn recognized the girl; she used to come into the café. She'd applied, but Terri turned down the application and not long after they hired Kitty, she stopped coming by. She heard her server talking about her all the time and it wasn't pleasant; she recognized Kitty's actions—Quinn had been much the same with girls she had been intimidated by in high school. Looking at her now, she could see why her youngest worker was always talking so poorly about her; she was clearly an easy target, too downtrodden to realize why anyone would be jealous of her, and a little wide eyed and jumpy.

"No problem," Quinn laughed. "So you're the temporary delivery girl?"

Marley squirmed a little and nodded her head. "Yes, but I'm hoping Miss Berry will keep me on; she let me help with making the flowers today."

"Well, good luck with that." She nodded back, letting the girl by, and opening the door again.

"I really hope so," Marley replied. "We could really use the money, but I shouldn't bother you with that. Have a good night and Happy Valentine's Day."

Quinn waved and stepped inside, turning into the back room and tiptoeing in. Rachel's back was to her and the music was playing loudly; she was quickly snipping stems and had several vases lined up in various stages of completion. The room was filled with flowers and greenery and the floor and tables were littered with stems, leaves, petals, and ribbon clippings. Even the brunette's hair was slightly askew and had some leaves and bits of filler sticking to the long dark strands. The blonde continued to sneak closer to the preoccupied girl, though sneaking wasn't necessary, and slipped her hands over her eyes quickly.

Rachel screamed and lunged forward, causing her to crash into the table, and Quinn instantly removed her hands and backed up a few steps.

"I'm sorry," she said hastily. "Shit, I didn't mean to scare you that bad."

"Language," Rachel snapped at her as she gripped her hand and turned around.

"Guess who?" Quinn offered with a giggle. "I'm really sorry."

"You can't just sneak up on someone when The Phantom of the Opera is playing!" the brunette continued to scold.

"I'm sorry, alright?" the blonde said again, her voice softer, as she looked down at her friend's hand. "Oh my god, you cut yourself!"

"It's only a nick," Rachel assured her as she applied pressure to her finger. "I have nearly a hundred of them from the thorns at any rate."

"Yeah, but this one is from me, not a rose," Quinn said sadly.

"Well cuts don't hurt as badly when they come from contact with something beautiful, so don't worry about it," the brunette replied before clamping her mouth shut and turning bright red.

Quinn could feel her cheeks burning suddenly as well and she cleared her throat with a little gasp.

"Well, I don't know how sound your logic is there," she began, swallowing past the sudden knot, before clearing her throat again and continuing. "But I'll take it as a complement."

"So," Rachel stammered. "So, what are you doing here—besides scaring me nearly to death?"

"I told you I would take you up on that offer one of these nights," Quinn said with a smile.

Rachel paused for a moment and then walked over to turn down the music.

"Oh?" she said coyly. "What offer was that?"

The blonde gave her a no-nonsense smile and joined her by the stereo; she began cycling through the music selection without making eye contact with the other girl. She scanned the songs as they scrolled by and let the corners of her mouth twitch impishly.

"So how does this work?" Quinn asked frankly. "Do I just pick a song for you to sing?"

"No, that's not how this works," Rachel stated emphatically. "I will be selecting the music, thank you very much."

"Do you have anything that hasn't been preformed on Broadway?" the blonde asked, feeling fairly sure the answer would be no.

"As a matter of fact I have a large selection," the brunette answered. "What have you got against Broadway?"

"Nothing, nothing," she replied. "Just wasn't sure if you knew there was music that didn't come from a play or not."

She could see Rachel bristling a little out of the corner of her eye and she smirked; the girl was so easy to wind up and it was cute.

"So what song will you be torturing me with tonight?" Quinn teased as Rachel took over the iPod in its dock.

"Well, if you're expecting torture, maybe you should go," the brunette said seriously.

"I'm only kidding," the blonde responded, a little more desperately than she intended.

"Then go stand over there," Rachel demanded as she pointed to an empty spot between large barrels of roses. "And quit mocking me."

"Yes, Miss Berry," Quinn replied with a small bow and a giggle.

A few seconds after she took her spot, the music started and she listened intently, trying to determine if she'd ever heard the tune before so she would know what to expect, but she didn't recognize it. Her jaw dropped when Rachel spun around and began singing.

"_It never rains but it pours_

_Do keep the wolf from the door_

_I see you sitting in silence _

_Outside my house_

_Quiet as a mouse_

_I tried to buy you roses_

_But all the stores were closed_

_And if I had a diamond ring_

_I'd wear it through my nose_

_Oh but I can't dance and I can't sing_

_A loser, I suppose _

_So all I have is buttercups_

_All I have is buttercups_

_What is wrong with buttercups?_

_Who knows?"_

Quinn felt a quiver in her knees as Rachel's voice belted out every sad and desperate note; the brunette had actually picked up a small and simple flower as she circled the room singing. The blonde had not been prepared for the jolt the other woman's voice would send down her spine or the way it would send her heart into sudden spasms. Rachel grazed by her and held out the bright little flower for her to take.

"_And this could be life as we know it_

_How can I see if you never show it?_

_I tried to buy you roses _

_But all the stores were closed_

_And if I had a diamond ring_

_I'd wear it through my nose_

_Oh but I can't dance and I can't sing_

_A loser, I suppose_

_So all I have is buttercups_

_All I have is buttercups_

_What is wrong with buttercups?_

_Who knows? Who knows?_

_Who knows?"_

The music ended and Rachel bowed deeply, her face tinged with pink, and then popped back up quickly.

"So what do you think?" she asked eagerly. "Mr. Abram's has agreed to help me make a commercial for Second Chance Week like you suggested. This is the song I am thinking of using; I feel it's very inspiring, a little sad and wistful, but not too depressing or desperate, which might be exactly what some people need to give them the push."

Quinn stood there feeling absolutely tongue tied and played with the flower in her hand absentmindedly; she could feel her cheeks burning slightly. When she peaked up from the yellow petals, Rachel was frowning uneasily.

"Is the song no good?" she asked.

"No, no," Quinn stumbled over her own words. "It was fine—good; it's fantastic, it really was."

"My voice has that effect on people," the brunette teased. "Don't be embarrassed."

Her words prickled something deep inside the blonde and she instinctively put on a lofty façade.

"I don't know," Quinn chided back casually. "I'm not sure I'm impressed."

Rachel scoffed and faltered for a moment.

"Are you implying there was something wrong with my performance?" the brunette asked.

"No," the blonde said slowly. "I'm just not sure you blew me away the way you intended to. Maybe another song, just so I can make my mind up for sure?"

The excuse felt flimsy on her lips, but the other woman seemed to buy it, and she turned quickly and began shuffling through music again. Quinn let out a quiet sigh of relief and watched her closely from across the room. When the music started, she recognized it instantly, and felt the now familiar flush returning to her cheeks.

"_Don't know much about your life_

_Don't know much about your world_

_Don't wanna be alone tonight_

_On this planet they call Earth_

"_You don't know about my past and_

_I don't have a future figured out_

_And maybe this is goin' too fast_

_And maybe it's not meant to last_

"_But what do you say to takin' chances?_

_What do you say to jumpin' of the edge?_

_Never knowin' if there's solid ground below_

_Or a hand to hold or hell to pay_

_What do you say? What do you say?"_

Rachel was coming closer and Quinn's mind was racing—keeping pace with her heart—and she couldn't look the brunette in the eye. Her voice was stronger than in the song before; Rachel was obviously pulling out all the stops, but it still didn't explain why Quinn was feeling so many flashes of emotion. It didn't explain why every move the girl made felt like a welcome invitation or why her warm brown eyes pulled hers like magnets. The blonde thought that she had left her second guessing long behind in high school and college, but the florist's voice was breathing it back to life again. She felt a fluttering in her stomach as Rachel made another close pass by her. Quinn struggled while her feelings came to light and her reservations warred to push them back into the shadows. The song was ending and she desperately needed more time, needed it to last longer so she could make sense of it all. Rachel stood in front of her, leaning slightly forward as she sang and the words washed over her.

"_So talk to me, talk to me like lovers do_

_Yeah walk with me, walk with me like lovers do_

_Like lovers do_

"_But what do you say to takin' chances?_

_What do you say to jumpin' off the edge?"_

Before she could stop herself, Quinn reached out and grabbed Rachel by her arms, which were already stretched out, and pulled her forward. Their faces collided clumsily and her lips found their place against the other girl's mouth. She felt Rachel tense up in her arms before melting limply against her own body as she returned the kiss; it lasted unusually long as though either of them pulling away would break the trance they were lingering so comfortably in. The blonde's doubts evaporated away and all that was left was a longing for more; her hands trailed up Rachel's back and rested at the base of her neck, holding her in place. The brunette was pressing further into the embrace and her hands were working their way through her short blonde hair, tangling at each temple, and preventing Quinn from moving away as well. By the time the kiss had ended, both their hands had worked their way down to each other's elbows and they rested their foreheads together.

"How did this happen?" Rachel ventured timidly.

"Well, obviously, you seduced me," Quinn said with an awkward laugh.

Quinn felt Rachel's grip tighten on her elbows. "This is nothing to joke about. I need to know what's going on here. You don't regret it, do you? Is this going to ruin our friendship? Are you disgusted? Embarrassed?"

Quinn squirmed a little bit but didn't try to escape.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I really don't know."

"Well, we need to figure this out," Rachel insisted, a little bit of panic edging in her voice. "I don't think I could bear to lose you as a friend and, and, I—"

"I'm not disgusted," Quinn blurted. "I think that much is obvious."

They still hadn't looked each other in the eye; their foreheads were still pressed lightly together and they seemed to be frozen in that stance.

"Do you regret it?" the brunette asked softly.

"No," the blonde returned. "No, I don't."

"Then—" Rachel began.

"Let's not think about it now," Quinn said with a groan. "Once I start thinking about it, I'm going to start second guessing and over thinking and honestly, I'll probably start freaking out. So, can that all just wait until later?"

There was silence and she could hear the other girl swallow thickly.

"Okay," Rachel said with a nod. "Okay. We can think about it later."

* * *

Rachel wasn't sure if Quinn had thought about it over the past few days, but she certainly had; she was falling in love and she knew it—and it terrified her. The blonde seemed more than willing to exchange soft touches and signs of affection, but they hadn't truly talked about it. Rachel felt sure that the blonde was putting all thinking on hold, possibly postponing it indefinitely, and was set on living in the moment of it all. She had been hurt before and the lack of communication was torturous to her, but she couldn't bring herself to push the subject. After all, this was a big deal; it was a lot to process, and she felt safe in assuming that Quinn had never experienced anything like this—and neither had she. For the most part, Rachel was just relieved that Quinn didn't bolt or avoid her; in fact, the blonde was seeking her out more and more. She'd participated in the making of the commercial and stopped by every night after she closed shop; on Valentine's Day morning when Rachel showed up for their traditional pre-opening chat, she had acted naturally. It didn't feel like the other woman was sweeping the issue under the rug; it only felt like she didn't want to think of it as an issue at all.

The commercial would air today and Rachel felt the pressure all the more to make some kind of gesture to make things official. It didn't seem logical that she would be encouraging others to act on their feelings if she wasn't willing to take the plunge herself. It had been unexpected, to say the least, and it wasn't until Quinn had embraced her that she had realized what she had been feeling all along. It had been so long since she'd had a close friend that she hadn't thought of her feelings as anything more than that, but it made sense—she'd never felt so drawn to anyone or so comfortable in their presence. So, early on Sunday morning, Rachel stood at her window and watched for Quinn to pass by and let herself into the café. She took a deep breath and picked up the little package she had been fussing over for the past hour; she didn't wait for Sam to arrive, instead she texted him the code for the alarm and left without even doing the preliminary set up.

The back door was unlocked, as usual, and she took a deep breath and stepped lightly into the kitchen.

"Good morning," Quinn said lightly as she measured out ingredients.

"Good morning," Rachel replied shakily.

"Are you okay? You sound nervous," the blonde asked, glancing up from her work. "What's that?"

"I brought you a present," the brunette said with a smile and slid the container across the stainless steal table.

Quinn pulled the lid off quickly and peaked inside; she looked up at Rachel with a smirk.

"Cookies?" Quinn asked in amusement.

"My family's secret recipe," Rachel announced. "I know it seems utterly ridiculous to bring you cookies when you own a bakery, and to be honest, they're probably no where near as good as anything you make every day, but I just thought that, well, you probably never have anyone make you anything. Besides, it wouldn't have been special if I simply brought you flowers, and I was thinking that if someone were to send me flowers I would think it was very sweet even though I work with them all day long. Am I wrong?"

Quinn sampled a cookie and then devoured it nearly whole and Rachel smiled.

"These aren't vegan," she commented.

"Yes, I know," Rachel nodded, "but that's what the recipe calls for. I have to admit I did sample one of them, for old time's sake, and I've felt guilty ever since."

"Don't." Quinn giggled through a mouthful of snickerdoodle. "These things are pretty irresistible."

"I'm glad you like them." She smiled.

"You're right," the blonde nodded, "no one ever has tried to bake me anything. I'd never thought of that before."

Rachel fidgeted on the other side of the table as Quinn snapped the lid back into the place and slid the rest of the cookies off to the side.

"I'll get fat if you keep doing that; I don't even eat much of what I make anymore," she chided. "You know those things would sell like crazy here."

"Well it's a _secret_ family recipe," Rachel said evenly. "So I'm not at liberty to share it with you."

Quinn nodded and returned to checking her ingredients; every so often her eyes flittered over to the box of cookies and the corners of her mouth would twitch upward.

"So what are you making today?" Rachel asked casually. "I don't recognize it."

"That's because I've never made it before," Quinn responded slyly. "I'm creating something new."

"Oh, what is it?" she asked excitedly.

Quinn's cheeks flushed as she answered. "Berry Heaven—at least that's what I want to call it."

Rachel studied the woman's face for a moment and her hazel eyes flicked up to meet hers.

"I was going to make it for you as a surprise," she explained. "But after your gift, it feels kind of lame."

Rachel gasped, glancing down at all the ingredients and seeing that they were all vegan friendly. "No! That's, that's very sweet."

Quinn laughed and held out a spoon. "Do you want to help with them, then?"

"I'd love to," Rachel said as she took the spoon.

The baker instructed about the simpler tasks she would be doing and they worked in relative silence for a few minutes. Rachel tried to keep up, but her mind was buzzing with how she would broach the subject; she'd recited several speeches she'd meant to give, but none of them sounded right now.

"I'm just not sure about the best way to shape them," Quinn mumbled a little to herself. "The base needs to have form to hold in the sauce, but I don't want to do a regular circle or square design."

"About the cookies," Rachel began.

"Don't mention the cookies," the blonde chastised. "I'm trying to exercise some self control over here."

"I can only share the recipe with someone who's going to be a big part of my life." She couldn't believe she was simply going to bumble into this blindly. "someone that I feel will be there for me through the long hall. It would have to be love."

"Yeah, that's how family recipes work," Quinn said breezily. "You pretty much have to marry into them. It's not like I'm mad that you won't give it to me."

"You know, I never even made them for my ex husband," Rachel continued on, willing herself not to lose her nerve. "I never even thought about it."

"Well good," the blonde responded sharply. "It sounds like the ass didn't deserve them. He definitely didn't deserve you."

"I'd like," she cleared her throat, "I'd like to think that someday I'll meet someone I could share them with, though. Someday I'd like to think that someone would be there completely."

She saw Quinn stop her fidgeting with the dough, but she didn't look over. Rachel held her breath and prayed that she hadn't pushed too hard and that she hadn't made the blonde angry. A moment later, the baker set back to work on the base, pressing up the edges to accommodate the filling that Rachel was working on. She stirred the mixture slowly and sighed; perhaps this hadn't been the right time for this—Quinn wasn't ready to talk about it yet. A few seconds later, the other woman slid a pan, with all the bases lined neatly in little rows, over to her.

"Fill them about half way and then we will bake and top them off when they are done," Quinn said authoritatively.

Rachel looked down at the little row of hearts and followed the instructions she had been given.

"Steady, you don't want to drip over the edges," she instructed softly. "You're right, you know?"

"Hhmm?" Rachel murmured as she tried to concentrate on doing the task correctly.

"You shouldn't have to wait around for someone to wise up and realized they can't seem to make it a day without you," Quinn clarified. "You deserve someone who will be there for you—completely."

Rachel filled the last heart in and closed her eyes as Quinn took the tray from her; she felt sure that this would be the end. She'd pushed too hard and now the woman was going to put a stop to it. Maybe she had asked for too much; after all, they'd known each other for less than a month. What could she possibly have expected? Rachel berated herself inwardly for trying to move things along too fast.

"I'm not sure I'm ready to be," the blonde paused for a second, "public about this. I don't know how to even go about it."

Rachel nodded and stared at her hands.

"But I don't want to lose you," Quinn said evenly. "And I don't want to string you along, but I don't want to see you with anyone else. So, I guess, if you want some kind of commitment—I really want to give that to you. I just don't know how to do that."

Her eyes shot up and sought out the hazel eyes of the woman speaking.

"How do I do this?" Quinn asked. "How can I ask you to be my girlfriend and keep it secret while I work out all my bullshit? Is that even fair?"

The brunette didn't even scold her for her language; instead, she lunged at her and wrapped her up in a hug.

"That's fine, that's fine," Rachel assured her. "That's perfectly reasonable. I know it can't be easy for you, and of course you don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with. I thought I'd completely blown it by pushing."

Quinn cut her off with a kiss before correcting her. "Sometimes I need someone to light a fire under my ass."

Happy tears were glistening at the corners of their eyes; the bell jingled in the other room and Rachel took a quick step back to assure Quinn that she was fine with keeping it private for now. The blonde mouthed her a '_thank you'_ and let their hands linger together for a few moments before letting go. The alarm sounded next door and Rachel jumped.

"I'd better—" she said, backing towards the door reluctantly.

"Yeah," Quinn nodded, "I'll bring one of these over when they're done and we'll try them together, okay?"

Rachel nodded and ducked out the kitchen door, nearly knocking into Terri as she did so, and stuttered out a quick apology. She could hear Brittany singing to herself at the counter as she let herself out the back door and rushed across the alley to disable the alarm.

* * *

Nearly a month had passed and Quinn was trying to think of a way to commemorate their first month's anniversary. She had honestly hoped to be out by then; she wanted part of the gift to be her taking them public, but the fear of her family's reaction kept holding her back. There was no way they would accept it, or even believe it was real, considering how quickly it had all happened. Every time she plucked up the courage to breach the subject, she would instantly imagine how they would pick apart her explanation and brush it away as some sort of phase. After all, she barely knew Rachel; they had only met a handful of weeks ago and they would never accept that Quinn could know it was love after that short of time. They would talk about all the boys she dated in high school back home and at the institute; they could point out that she had very nearly been engaged a couple of times and they would chalk it up to her spending so much time in that 'artsy-fartsy neighborhood' as they called it. There would be no convincing them that she was serious and no explaining how the brunette made her feel. If she was lucky, they would laugh it off like a joke and talk to her like she were a confused child, and if they did believe that she was determined to embrace this lifestyle, it would quickly turn ugly.

Quinn sighed and decided that perhaps their six month or year anniversary would be the best time to attempt something that big; by then, there would at least be proof that she had considered everything. Instead, she worked hard on executing a somewhat elaborate plan and keeping it secret from Rachel. Luckily she had found an accomplice who could help, but still be kept in the dark on the details, and when Sam arrived with the first of many flower arrangements, she smiled and instructed him to leave one on each table in the café.

"They're a little too big for the tables," Sam commented. "People won't have enough room to eat and won't be able to see each other. Are you sure you don't want me to have Rachel make them a little bit smaller?"

"No, I think it will be fine." Quinn shrugged.

She'd managed to make all of her orders through Sam, who didn't really seem to understand why she was having the flowers delivered at random times throughout the day or why they were being purchased anonymously, but he didn't seem to mind. He had started up a little guessing game over the course of the day, posing one theory after the next each time he delivered a vase.

"You're trying to help our profits and are afraid that Rachel will give you some kind of discount because you're friends?" Sam guessed for the fourth time that day.

"That's it," Quinn said brightly, growing tired of the game, and thinking it was the best alibi to go by.

"Good." He smiled. "I was going to guess that you'd had some sort of fight she didn't tell me about and she had cut you off from flowers or something."

The owner laughed and shook her head; the store was closed for the day, but people still kept trying to wander in whenever the delivery boy brought a fresh arrangement through the door. Quinn kept apologizing and shooing them away, promising they would be up and running bright and early the next morning. Once Sam dropped off the last of her order, she thanked him, handed him a large tip, and asked if he would send Rachel over after they closed up shop for the day.

"Don't mention the flowers, though," Quinn insisted. "I need her help looking over the books in the office."

He nodded and left; the second he was out the door, she pulled the blinds down on the windows and began moving the tables and chairs around. Quinn stacked the vases on tables and chairs in a circle around a small, intimately set table and rushed back into the kitchen to inspect the meal. It was the first time a regular meal had ever been made there and the smell seemed so foreign inside the bakery. The blonde walked back to the front door to double check the lock and then scurried to the back door to lock it as well; she knew Rachel would head for the back door as usual and she wanted to be sure that she didn't come in before Quinn was ready. She inspected her work from the back door before stepping into the office to collect the candles she had stashed there; after they were all lit, she returned to the back door again, and a wide satisfied grin spread across her face.

Half an hour later, she had their plates made and sitting in an oven to keep them warm. Quinn paced as she waited for a knock at the back door and the minutes seemed to tick by like hours. Finally, the knock came, and she hurried down the hall, pausing at the door to collect herself, and then clicked the lock open. Rachel's expression was everything she'd hoped it would be, and Quinn smiled proudly as the girl took several slow, shaky steps into the hall.

"How did you?" Rachel breathed.

Quinn caught her lips in a warm kiss and shushed her, taking her by the hand and leading her to the table. The brunette sighed as she eased her down into her seat and took a step back to get the full effect of the scene she had set for their dinner.

"It's too much," Rachel protested and Quinn shushed her again.

The girl looked distressed and the blonde's smile fell. "What's wrong?"

Rachel was nearly on the verge of tears and Quinn was suddenly sick to her stomach.

"It's just," she breathed, "this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me and all I did for you was bake you another batch of cookies. I feel so inadequate and selfish now."

"You made me the cookies," Quinn said excitedly. "That's exactly what I wanted."

"Don't tease me, please," Rachel snapped.

"I'm not teasing you," she replied earnestly. "And stop worrying or you'll ruin this for me."

The brunette pouted a little, but then nodded and wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry, it's just so lovely."

"Then enjoy it," Quinn insisted. "And hand over my cookies so I can serve our dinner."

Rachel nodded and held out the box of homemade treats; she hummed along to the classical music that was playing while Quinn disappeared into the kitchen and returned with their plates. She half expected the brunette to be surprised that she could make something other than pastries, but she only smiled and gushed over how good it looked and smelled. She thanked her several times for everything that she had done and Quinn laughed and batted the praise away while she watched her girlfriend enjoy it all.

"I'm giving you your money back for these arrangements," Rachel stated.

"No you won't," Quinn said back sharply.

"But you can't possibly expect—" she continued before the blonde cut her off.

"It would hurt my feelings," she countered. "Besides, you earned it; you made all of these."

"You were quite literally my only customer today." Rachel nodded. "How did you even manage that—and all this?"

"A lot of lying," Quinn answered with a chuckle. "Do you really think you could get me to take the money back?"

"No," the brunette admitted.

"Good," the blonde said proudly. "Now if you'll excuse me a minute, I'm going to go enjoy my gift. Do you want one?"

She stood, but before she could leave the table, Rachel grabbed her hand and she turned to see why.

"Actually," Rachel said shyly. "That wasn't the only gift I had in mind for you tonight."

Her eyebrow cocked as she looked down at the brunette's quickly reddening face. The pressure of the woman's hand on hers made her heart begin to race.

"Really?" Quinn said with a cough as she tried to sound sly and aloof.

"Yes," Rachel said even more timidly. "I was thinking I would, well, I was hoping, if you were interested that maybe. I thought—"

The brunette sighed in irritation and stood up, wrapping herself around Quinn, and whispering in her ear; it was almost undetectable. Quinn's cheeks blazed and she held Rachel's head steadily in place so that her breath was still in her ear.

"Does that sound like—like something you would want as a present?" she whispered again.

"Yes," Quinn whispered back, relishing the tickling sensation of Rachel's breath against her lobe and neck.

"Good," she replied as she placed a kiss on the nape of the blonde's neck.

Quinn giggled a little as Rachel's lips traced around her neck, partially from the sensation of it and partly because the girl was straining on her tiptoes to do so. Her breath caught quickly as the brunette found her pulse and sucked lightly. Rachel was guiding her forward and slowly lowered her back down onto the chair; she straddled her and braced her hands on the backrest of the seat. The brunette leaned back and locked eyes with her before kissing her deeply. It all seemed so surreal and Quinn's mind was racing; it had definitely never felt this way with the boys she had dated. Compared to this, what she thought was excitement was a joke, and the realization of just how real this was pushed any lingering questions out of her mind.

"Are you alright?" Rachel asked. "Is this moving too fast?"

"No!" Quinn blurted out before blushing more—if that were possible.

Rachel smiled and slowly began to unbutton her shirt; Quinn took in a deep breath as she watched the woman's fingers undoing the buttons nimbly, which only made her feel more flushed. The brunette opened her shirt and paused, watching as the her hazel eyes traced the lines of her body, before trailing her hands down the length of Quinn's side and then let her arms hang loosely at her side. The blonde reached out and slid her hands along Rachel's shoulders, pushing the shirt farther aside until it slipped off her shoulders completely and then slowly dragged down her arms and to the floor. Her skin was perfect and smooth and Quinn took in another long sigh. Her hands roamed along Rachel's exposed skin, dragging her nails lightly down her back and back up to her neck. Rachel shivered and chewed her lower lip as Quinn's fingers rested on the clasp of her bra. The blonde unhooked it effortlessly and slowly pealed away the garment; all too soon, Rachel leaned back, placing a soft kiss on her forehead and Quinn turned her head to place soft kisses of her own on the girl's shoulder. The brunette was toying with the hem of Quinn's dress. Quinn began nibbling at the base of the florist's neck and Rachel began hiking the dress up, maneuvering her hands along the blonde's bare sides, and eventually grazing her palms over her breasts.

Rachel scooted back slightly, resting more on Quinn's knees than lap, and let her return the touch. The blonde leaned forward and allowed her to undo her bra and slide it out from under her clothes; Quinn moaned as Rachel's warm hands cupped her breasts beneath the fabric and her head lulled back as she applied pressure to the sensitive peaks. Quinn's hand captured one of Rachel's breasts as the girl came forward to kiss her neck again and arched forward a little as her breath became labored and more excited. The brunette trailed her kisses up her neck and across her jaw line, searching for the soft lips of the blonde. Their tongues grazed and then swirled together as Rachel's hand began to drift down Quinn's side. Blonde strands of hair fell across her hazel eyes as she tilted her head to stare into her partner's warm brown eyes. Rachel paused at the top of her panties and searched Quinn's face for permission.

Quinn ran her tongue across her lips and gave her a slight nod; her breath caught as the brunette's hands slid deftly between the thin garment and her skin and she reached back to grip the hand that was holding Rachel steady. Her girlfriend made slow gentle circles around her center and Quinn's grip tightened on her hand; Rachel flinched a little but quickly planted a kiss over her lips before she could ask if she was alright.

"Ready?" Rachel whispered when the kiss had ended.

Quinn nodded and her lips pressed close against hers again as the brunette eased a finger in gently. She moaned loudly into Rachel's mouth at the sensation and her girlfriend began working her finger gently in and out of her slick core. Another finger joined the first and she picked up the pace with every gasp and pant from the blonde. Her heartbeat echoed through every inch of her body as her nerves rippled with pleasure, subconsciously pounding to the quickening rhythm of not only the music that still permeated the room, but also the stroke and penetration of Rachel's fingers. For a moment Quinn mused that Rachel was playing her soul like a piano, but any ability to string thoughts together dissolved as her back arched and her toes pressed hard against the floor, lifting the brunette slightly upward. A strong, lovely sensation began to claim all of her attention as she felt a sudden flood of ecstasy course through her body. Quinn let out an unhindered cry of pleasure and rested limply back against the seat; Rachel had to adjust quickly to keep from tumbling off the blonde's knees and Quinn gripped her tightly and pulled her even closer, placing several grateful kisses along her face and neck as she did so.

"Did I do alright?" Rachel asked shyly.

Quinn rolled her eyes; she couldn't find words for what it had been like.

"Wonderfully," was all she managed to choke out in a raspy tone.

"I'm glad," the brunette said happily as she leaned down to retrieve her bra.

The blonde pulled her back up. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I was—" Rachel began, but shuddered to a stop when Quinn pressed her palm against the bare skin of her chest.

"What about you?" She said softly.

"I'm," Rachel paused before continuing meekly, "not sure that I'm ready to—"

"But you just did," Quinn protested disappointedly.

"It's not the same," she insisted. "I've been wanting to do that for—well, for longer than I should have considering we've only been together for a month."

"A wonderful month," Quinn interjected.

"Yes, and believe me, I definitely want it," Rachel said desperately. "But—"

"Then why?" Her hazel eyes were locked on her girlfriend's.

Quinn could see how torn Rachel was; she could practically feel her desire radiating from her, but she could also see a few unwelcome tears collecting at the corners of those deep brown eyes. Sometimes she forgot that Rachel had been married before; forgot about that bastard being the only sexual partner the girl had ever had and how devastated his betrayal must have been. She leaned her forehead against Rachel's, the way that had become their custom when talking about difficult things, and sighed.

"You need time," Quinn stated softly. "I guess I can understand that."

"Is that alright?" Rachel said, her voice cracked and pleading. "Did I ruin our night?"

"No," she assured her, giving her a quick soft kiss. "You didn't ruin anything. You make everything perfect."

Quinn relaxed her grasp and reached down, handing the bra to her girlfriend, and smiled.

"Just let me know when you're ready," she said warmly. "Because as soon as you are I'll be right there."

"Thank you," Rachel breathed.

The brunette stood and began buttoning her shirt back up; Quinn retrieved her own bra, but didn't bother to put it back on; she simply tucked it into her coat pocket as she watched Rachel dress from across the room.

"Do you need help cleaning up?" Rachel offered.

"No," Quinn smiled, "but you might need help getting all these flowers back to your apartment."

Rachel looked flabbergasted and the blonde laughed.

"Alright," she sighed, "you only have to pick three or four of them. I will keep the rest for decorations if you think it's too much."

"It really is." Rachel nodded. "I don't know if I could fit all of these in my apartment."

"I'm sorry I made you work like a mad woman today," Quinn said as she leaned in for another kiss.

"I'm not," Rachel assured her as she returned it.

They circled the room blowing out the candles, and after a little coaxing, Rachel selected several vases of flowers. Quinn helped her carry them up to her home and lingered for a moment as Rachel fussed with where to place them, but after half an hour, she admitted to herself that she had left her store unlocked for too long already and it was late. She said goodnight and returned to the café to get her things and make the trip back to her own apartment.

As she stepped quickly into the kitchen to retrieve the cookies, the light suddenly came on and she squinted as it blinded her.

"It would seem that we need to have a serious talk," a familiar voice echoed from behind her and she froze in panic.

Quinn wheeled around and put on a bright, but not totally convincing, smile.

"Daddy." She gasped. "I didn't know you were in town. Why didn't you call?"

"I did call," he corrected. "A few days ago to set up a walk through to check out how things were going. I got Terri on the phone and she said Cheerio would be closed today. She also said there was something I should know so I came anyway."

"Terri?" Quinn asked.

"He really should know, Quinn," Terri spoke suddenly from the hallway. "I know you're an adult and it's not my business to meddle in your personal life if you want to keep something from your father, but when you let it effect your business, well, that becomes his business don't you think?"

"What are you—" she struggled to catch up with the conversation that was unfolding.

"When you close the store down so you can have a little date with that girl," Terri explained. "Well that just shows that you're not thinking straight. It can affect the business. How many people did you have to turn away today so that you could have this little date? Your father is right to be concerned for more than just the obvious reason; he still has a large investment in this café."

"How did you even know?" Quinn's temper was beginning to flare; she was quite literally cornered and she didn't like it.

"That's not the point, Quinn," Russell interjected. "I thought that after you made it through college without any experimentation that we had been blessed. You'd kept the faith and hadn't been lured by the temptations of pop culture and liberal thinking."

"You don't understand," she said quickly, trying to remember any of the speeches she had considered for how to break the news to her family.

"I'm disappointed in you," her father said gravely.

Terri was nodding in agreement behind her and Quinn's eyes narrowed on the older woman, but her father's words cut deeper than she'd expected.

"Just let me explain," she pleaded. "I didn't mean for you to find out this way."

"Believe me, Quinn, I would have rather found out any way other than walking in on you in the throws of—" Russell shuddered and shook his head. "It has to stop."

The blonde went pale and she felt like she might very well throw up her gourmet meal right there on the spot. When had they come in? How much had they seen and for how long? Without really thinking she turned and exited the other set of doors that lead to the registers, but Terri was already standing in the way of escape and Russell wasn't far behind.

"You really need to stay and hear your father out," Terri said, a wicked little smile tickling her cheeks.

"I can't talk about this now," Quinn pleaded. "I need some time to think; we both need some time to think."

"No, I've made up my mind, Quinnie," Russell insisted. "I still own a little over half of this business and if you're not willing to come to your senses and break this thing off with that girl, then I'm going to have to buy you out and hand the operation over to Ms. Del Monico."

Rage ripped through Quinn as she stared down her assistant manager, who despite her lofty demeanor, seemed slightly frightened by her piercing glare, and then turned back to her father.

"You can't do that!" she sobbed.

"I don't want to have to," Russell assured her. "I know how hard you've worked here and I'd like to keep the business in the family, but if you won't see reason, I'll have no other choice."

His voice as cold, impossibly professional, and it chilled her to the bone. Her father had never been so reserved with her before and he'd never looked at her with so much disdain.

"I knew this place was a mistake from the start," he continued with a sigh. "And I should have told you no when I found out what kind of neighborhood this was, but I was too soft."

"What if I bought you out?" Quinn proposed desperately.

"That's ridiculous!" Terri sputtered. "You don't have that kind of money. It took two years to pay off half of his investment."

"But what if I did?" she insisted, choosing to ignore the woman.

Russell looked her over as he thought for a moment.

"You can't really be considering this?" Terri prattled on. "What is she going to do, take out a lone? If they would give it to her; she's so young, and even at that she might not get enough to—"

"Let me try," Quinn begged.

"On a few conditions," Russell snapped. "I'll give you three months to try to pay me off. That's until the end of June. Until then, you will keep Terri as your assistant manager and she will report to me on what you're doing and who you are seeing. I want you to at least consider ending things with that woman. Three months, no loans from the bank, and at the end of June, you can either pay off my investment or tell me you've come to your senses. Do we have a deal?"

"Oh this is absolutely ridicu—" Terri grumbled.

"Deal!" Quinn shouted and then added more quietly. "But I want you to consider that Rachel makes me very happy, happier than I've ever been in my entire life. If you expect me to seriously think of giving her up, I need you to consider accepting me for who I am."

Russell grumbled and did not answer her offer.

"Until the end of June," he said curtly. "I'll see you then; I hope you come to your senses."

With that her father turned and strode off down the hallway with Terri in hot pursuit; the slam of the door echoed through the café and Quinn sank to the floor behind the counter and cried.

* * *

It was the beginning of May and Rachel lay in bed next to Quinn; ever since the night of the confrontation with Terri and her father, her girlfriend had been staying most nights at Rachel's. At first she had said it was because she wanted to be closer to the café so she could get more work in, then, when she had moved more into the anger phase, she had said it was because she didn't want to give Russell the satisfaction of thinking he had scared her out of seeing her girlfriend. Rachel knew better; she knew that Quinn needed her support and attention more than ever now that she was so weighted down with stress and possible loss. Not that she minding having the blonde close so often.

Rachel rolled over slowly, being careful not to wake the other girl, and watched her brows crease and relax intermittently in her sleep. She'd tried to help Quinn raise the money; Cheerio now had vouchers for half priced items at Nature's Glee that customers received with any purchase over $50, she recommended the café to every customer or stranger she came in contact with, and she had even offered to take out a loan of her own for Quinn to use even though she knew that was technically cheating. In the end, the baker had to remind her that Terri was still running the books and would know, and no matter whose name was on the loan, her father would never let it slide. Normally Rachel would have charged in full force to raise the money, blogging, advertising, and somehow starting a Save Cheerio movement, but Quinn had been adamant that she wanted to keep her financial emergency private. The brunette currently hoped that her girlfriend would reconsider now that things had changed.

One day over a week ago Santana Lopez, who Rachel hadn't yet met at the time, had come banging on the door to her apartment; the brazen woman had stormed in and promptly smacked Quinn across the back of the head. Before Rachel could even react to the home invasion, Santana had gone on a full tirade, demanding to know why she had been left out of the loop on everything and why Quinn hadn't come to her for advice and help. If it had been anyone but Brittany who had informed on her they would have been severely punished, but no one could stay mad at the bubbly blonde for long. In time, Santana had made sure the entire block knew about the situation, which only seemed to aid more weight to Quinn's already sagging shoulders, and Rachel saw a real chance to get something big in motion. Time was running out and she couldn't bear to see the woman she was falling head over heels in love with on the verge of loosing everything. Rachel had almost considered breaking things off with her just to make things easier, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

The blonde brows knitted together again and Rachel sighed and slipped out of bed quickly; she felt so frustrated, angry, and helpless about the whole ordeal. The brunette was not a violent person, but she thoroughly wanted to ring Terri's neck; this whole thing was obviously just the woman's way of trying to take the café for herself. Cheerio was Quinn's life; she'd built it up from nothing and poured her blood, sweat, and tears into it. The café was Quinn's creation and Terri had no right to it. What good would it even be without her? The older woman would never find someone who could compare to the blonde to bake for it; she would irrevocably ruin it.

Then there was the issue of Mr. Fabray; the very thought of this man she had never met made her stomach churn. Rachel was completely aware that some parents have a hard time adjusting and processing the information when they discover there children are, for lack of better wording, not like they had imagined, but she couldn't understand how Quinn's father could shut her out so completely. The brunette had assumed that, given time, he would have calmed down and thought things through; perhaps he would even meet with his daughter again with questions and be ready to try to understand—but, of course, he hadn't. The closest thing to contact they'd had with him since were the updates Terri would give Quinn about their current balances.

In Rachel's opinion, Mr. Fabray's actions were unforgivably cruel, worse than Ms. Del Monico's scheming, because they came from a deeper level than mere selfishness. He wanted Quinn to fail; he wanted to see her struggle and eventually fall. Maybe he hoped that when the time came, his daughter would see the futility of it all and give in to his demands, but it was clear that, either way, he wanted her to suffer as punishment. No, in Rachel's opinion, he was not a real father; if he had a loving bone in his body, he wouldn't sit back so callously and watch his daughter's dreams crumble without the slightest inclination to consider Quinn's feelings.

"You're doing it again," Quinn spoke groggily behind her.

Rachel jumped and shut off the water before turning to smile at her girlfriend, who stood in the kitchen doorway wearing an oversized t-shirt, and waving a quick hello.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I couldn't quite hear you over the water running."

"I said you're doing it again," her girlfriend repeated before her sentence blurred off into a yawn.

"Doing what again?" Rachel asked.

"Muttering to yourself while cleaning already spotless dishes," Quinn answered.

"I do not mutter," the brunette said defensively. "And these dishes did, in fact, need cleaned."

The blonde scoffed and corrected her. "I cleaned those last night, remember? And you so were muttering. You sound like an angry cartoon character when you do that."

Quinn proceeded to mimic Rachel briefly—throwing in her best Yosemite Sam impression—before stopping and sighing.

"I'm sorry my drama is stressing you out so much." The blonde offered weakly.

Rachel gave her a reassuring smile as she joined her in the doorway.

"Oh, I am quite capable of handling drama, don't worry about that," Rachel assured her. "I simply never thought that I would so thoroughly want to physically assault so many people in my entire life, so I wasn't prepared to have these feeling towards so many people in just a few short months. But that was merely at first—now I'm completely comfortable with it."

She watched as Quinn's shoulders drooped when she finished speaking and felt instantly guilty; she had hoped her cavalier approach would have put the girl at ease.

"It's not your fault, Quinn," the brunette sputtered out an explanation. "I wouldn't trade having you in my life for all the peace and quiet in the world, and we will get back to that I promise. I am simply so irritated with certain people, who shall remain nameless, because they are making your life so unduly stressful. Honestly, and that isn't your fault; it's theirs because they insist on mistreating the person I love."

Rachel clamped her mouth shut and she could feel a few frustrated tears spring up as her cheeks colored; the word 'love' had not come up yet before and she felt that she had just inadvertently ruined the moment by blurting it out so unceremoniously. Her eyes narrowed at the floor as she inwardly scolded Terri and Russell for somehow ruining their moment once again.

"The person you love," Quinn breathed and Rachel couldn't bring herself to look up—she merely nodded and continued staring at the floor. "And that's me right?"

"Of course it's you!" Rachel gasped as her eye's shot up to meet the amused glint in the other girl's hazel eyes.

"Good," the blonde almost giggled, "then it's a good thing I love you too." They were silent for a moment before Quinn broke the stillness with a barely audible whisper. "Does that mean that you're ready now?"

Rachel took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering. "Yes, I suppose it does."

Quinn's arms were around her quickly, her lips pressed hard against Rachel's, and her fingers locked determinedly behind her back. The brunette leaned into her, allowing the blonde to pull her even closer, and tilted her head up, eager for more. Quinn was toying with the hem of her shirt and Rachel shivered at the delightful sensation of her fingers grazing the bare skin at the small of her back.

There was a pounding at the door and both girl's jumped and then groaned as they broke away from their embrace.

"If that is that Lopez woman and she intends to smack you again I will be sorely tempted to give her a piece of my mind," Rachel fumed.

"Santana is," Quinn paused as she rolled her eyes, "an acquired taste. If you want to try to take her on I'd be glad to watch, but since I love you, I think you should stay out of arm's reach if you're planning to do that."

The brunette sighed and cracked the door open slightly. "Hello?" she called out softly.

"I don't have all day," Santana snapped from the other side of the door. "Some of us don't close down on Sunday's you know."

"What can we help you with?" Rachel tried to sound friendly as she asked without opening the door further.

"Well, you could let me in for starters," the woman shot back as she pushed the door open, causing Rachel to have to shuffle backwards.

Her eyes narrowed as Santana passed her, making a beeline for Quinn with a smirk on her face, and she crossed her arms and frowned. She knew it was probably silly to feel jealous of the other woman, but Miss Lopez seemed to feel she had some sort of claim on the blonde—even if it were only as a friend. Santana's attitude certainly didn't help things.

"What's got the dwarf so pissed off?" Santana asked. "Oh, did I interrupt some hideously disturbing sex or something? I hope so."

"What do you want, San?" Quinn said shortly.

The fierce brunette glanced between the two of them with a smirk before handing Quinn a bright pink flyer. Rachel squinted from her spot at the door, but couldn't see what was written on the paper, so, instead, she studied Quinn's face.

"What is this?" She gasped, her face falling again, "McKinley Street Pride Week. What's going on, Santana?"  
"Oh good," the girl responded as she eyed Quinn's reaction. "I was hoping to give you at least a little pay back for leaving me out of the loop on all this before. This is how we're going to save Cheerio, by the way, so you can thank me now."

"Independent gay and lesbian film festival, antique auction, live music and open mic," the blonde rattled off the listed activities on the flyer. "A parade, and—wait, what's this? Tolerance speeches by the business owners of McKinley Court. Why, who, how did no one tell me about this? Everyone on the whole block is involved."

"Oh, like I would let anyone tell you about it." Santana scoffed. "Besides, it's been a long time coming anyway, and if I'd told you, then you would have found some lame reason to back out of it."

"You have me on the list as a speaker!" Quinn yelled.

"Well, yeah," Santana said with a shrug. "We're doing this to save your business; the least you could do is inspire a few people. I mean you're already out, so just chill."

"I didn't want people to know about my problems with the café," the blonde growled.

"Well boo-hoo," her friend snapped back. "I don't want my best friend to lose her business just because she's too proud and stubborn to ask for help, so now you've got it whether you want it or not."

Rachel brushed past Santana to look at the flyer in Quinn's trembling hands; she had to hand it to Miss Lopez, she'd clearly put a lot of work into this, even if she was being rather incentive to Quinn's feelings. She was actually touched by the fact that everyone on the street seemed to be interested in helping; even with struggles of their own, they seemed completely willing to step in and lend a hand any way they could. It was something Rachel would have wanted to do if she had thought she could convince her girlfriend to go along with it, but the other brunette had bypassed that pesky detail.

"You should have at least eased her into the idea, Santana," Rachel chastised. "This is a very big step on several different levels for Quinn and you should have been a little more—"

"Blah, blah, blah," Santana cut her off. "We both know if I'd eased her in, then it would have been too late by time she got the balls to do it."

"Bitch," Quinn said with a glare to her friend.

"Back at ya." Santana laughed. "And it's not all about you anyway. Lots of people have wanted this for a long time. It's about time we stand up and show our pride for our lady love and whatever."

"How could you do this?" the blonde repeated again.

Santana crossed her arms and glared back at Quinn; Rachel was beginning to worry that things might soon escalate.

"Because I fuckin' love you," the brunette said coldly. "As a best friend, I mean because let's face it, I'm out of your league and you'll be stuck with the troll here forever, but I want you to be happy."

"That is absolutely inappropriate—" Rachel began.

"Thank you," Quinn said quickly before her girlfriend could get too far into scolding the other woman.

Rachel wrapped her arms around Quinn and laughed when Santana made a gagging sound and began taunting them.

"Ok, so I'm gonna get out of here before you two scar me for life," she said offhandedly. "But we're having a meeting about this on Wednesday at the café. Most of the plans are already made, but we can bring you up to speed on it all."

Before either of them could say anything, Santana turned and was out the door quickly. Quinn backed up and sat down on the sofa and Rachel took her place beside her while she waited for everything to sink in; she wasn't sure how the blonde would react once that happened. After nearly fifteen minutes of silence Quinn sighed and tossed the flyer on the coffee table and leaned back, pulling the brunette along with her.

"So," Rachel decided to test the waters, "what do you think?"

"I think you should go lock the door so Santana can't interrupt us again," Quinn said seductively.

* * *

The days leading up to the first week of June were exhausting; on top of the regular work of running Cheerio, Quinn faced a lot of preparation for the upcoming event. The blonde was afraid to let herself hope that this could actually solve her problems; of course it would bring in a massive amount of business for that week, but she didn't dare to dream that it could possibly bring in enough to cover what was left on the balance if she wanted to buy out her father. However, Quinn couldn't bring herself to back down from it or let anyone else know about her fears of failure. Everyone else was putting so much into this and she didn't want to disappoint them. She didn't want to dampen their spirits by pointing out that even an amazing week of sales probably wouldn't be enough to dent what was left from his investment. After all, it had taken two years to pay back the first half, which meant it was foolish to think three months was enough time to earn the rest.

The week had gone by far too quickly and she was amazed by the turn out; their sales had been through the roof, but Quinn still forced down the little spark of hope that threatened to betray her as she poured over the account book in the office.

Terri walked in, not bothering to knock, and looked down at her with a look of unabashed triumph.

"I've already balanced," she sneered, no longer bothering to play pleasantly. "You can look over it all you want, but you're still very far short of paying it off."

"Well you'll excuse me if I look it over myself," Quinn seethed back. "I hope you're not offended that I don't trust you."

"You only have yourself to blame for this, Quinn," Terri lectured. "You got yourself into this mess, but maybe it can work out for both of us. You can have your life the way you want it and I can have the business. You're too young to handle it, anyway."

Quinn slammed the book shut and her assistant manager flinched; Terri began to fidget as she stood up slowly.

"I'm only trying to prepare you for what's going to happen at the end of the month, Quinn," she stammered a little under her boss's hard glare. "After you give your little speech tomorrow, the customer flow will go back to normal. So it's not a good idea to get your hopes up."

"Get out of my office!" Quinn screamed at her, taking a quick step toward the older woman. "Get the hell out of my café!"

Miss Del Monico stiffened and tried to put on a brave face, but Quinn could see her confidence waning.

"There is no need to act like that," she chastised weakly. "And, at any rate, your father made it very clear that I was to stay until the deal was done. You can't order me out or fire me."

Quinn was very close to losing her temper as she took another step closer.

"I believe the terms were you were to stay in her employ until the deal was settled," Rachel spoke from the end of the hallway. "Which means you are still Quinn's employee and that also means she is completely within her right to send you home for the evening considering Cheerio is closed and you are not actually working."

The blonde squeezed her eyes shut and breathed a sigh of relief when she realized Rachel was there; it just might keep her from pummeling her assistant manager to a pulp.

"She's right," Terri said briskly. "I might as well go home for the night. We're closed tomorrow anyway and I will be glad not to be stuck in the traffic from it all."

She left without even saying goodbye and Rachel was by Quinn's side quickly; her arm rested gently on the blonde's shoulder and Quinn was grateful for the small token of comfort. They'd only been together for five months, but already the girl was an essential part of her life; she knew in her heart that she never would have risked this much for anyone else, and though she regretted the situation she was in, she didn't regret that it was for Rachel.

"Thank you," Quinn said softly as she leaned her head on top of the girl's dark locks.

"I was more than happy to help you dispatch that," Rachel replied quickly, her voice going soft and slightly squeaky as she finished. "Bitch."

"Language," Quinn teased, nearly erupting with laughter at her girlfriend's attempt to be vulgar.

"Fine, that's fine; simply laugh at my attempts to be audacious," the brunette teased back.

"It really is a good thing you came when you did," she continued. "I don't know if I could have gone another second without beating her down and tossing her out on the street."

"Then perhaps I am sorry I showed up too soon to see that happen." Rachel giggled back. "After all, I don't remember any of the terms of your father's agreement being that you couldn't strike her."

"I think it was assumed." The blonde sighed.

"Are you ready to come home?" the brunette said softly as she gently trailed her fingers along Quinn's arm.

"I really should look over the books for myself." Quinn sighed again.

"Then I'll keep you company," Rachel said brightly. "I'll just sit here and remain quiet."

"You can do that?" She gasped, giving the girl a wink, and grinned.

Rachel pouted and Quinn couldn't help but think how cute she was when her lip jutted out like that and her warm brown eyes flashed before turning a little darker. She stepped forward quickly and a placed a tender kiss on the brunette's balmy lips. Her girlfriend returned it and slipped her arms around the blonde's waist for a brief moment before stepping back and taking a seat.

"The sooner you finish that," she pointed to the account book on the desk, "the sooner we can continue that at home."

"I'm on it," Quinn said, opening the book quickly and trying to force her focus back to the task at hand.

Rachel had been trying to help Quinn work on her speech; the thought of it terrified her. It was another thing she was worried about letting her fellow business owners down on; she knew they were all giving speeches or performing in some way tomorrow and she felt an intense pressure to get it right, but she honestly had no idea how to go about it. It had crossed her mind, several times in fact, to bow out of it; after all, it was a big deal. She hadn't had the chance to come out to her family or to her friends; in one way or another, that step had been taken from her and this felt unnatural and forced. Then Quinn would feel a sudden wave of guilt at wanting to be excused from the proceedings and so she never asked. Rachel, who would be singing instead of giving a speech, would give her tips or theme suggestions and Quinn appreciated all the help, but it didn't make her task any easier. Her girlfriend had also offered to make the song a duet and though it was tempting, she still couldn't shake the feeling that it would somehow be letting down the people who had gone through so much already to try to help her.

When she had finally tallied the final balance for herself, she closed the book and looked back up at Rachel with a weak smile.

"That bad?" the brunette asked.

"No worse than I was expecting really." Quinn sighed.

"But not enough." Rachel sighed.

Quinn chewed her lower lip for a moment, inwardly cursing herself for being unprepared for this inevitability, and let out an irritated gasp as she fought back the tears that were stubbornly forming in her eyes. Rachel stood quickly, but the blonde put her hand up, motioning for her to stay where she was as she shook her head a few quick times, and rose from her chair as well.

"Don't tell anyone," she said quietly. "I don't want them to worry or feel let down."

"And what about you?" Rachel said, the pout coming back out. "You don't want anyone to worry, so you are determined to take it all on yourself. They are your friends and colleagues."

"And they've done a lot for me." Quinn nodded. "More than I would have expected or hoped for, but this week has been about hope and I want to let them have that."

"Alright," the brunette agreed.

"Thank you," she breathed. "You've done more for me than anyone; not just here—anyone in my life. I don't know what I'd do without you."

It was Rachel's turn to chew at the inside of her cheek and look uncertain.

"Do not take this the wrong way," she began. "But I cannot help but feel that if it were not for me, you wouldn't be in such a predicament. I love you, I think I have loved you from the very moment I saw you on the street even before we met, and I would never want to lose you, but I would understand—this place is so important to you—I would understand if—"

Her girlfriend's voice was faltering and Quinn stood frozen, waiting for whatever horrible thing that was going to happen to just happen, and watched the brunette's lower lip tremble.

"I would understand if you wanted to break things off to save it," Rachel struggled on. "After all, we've been together such a short time, and even though I truly feel that this is love, real and powerful and right, I also feel that your father wants nothing more than this to be ended. If you were to decide to do that in order to appease him-"

Quinn tilted her head at Rachel. "Shut up."

"If it weren't for me, he would have never considered taking Cheerio from you, and if you hadn't stood up for me, for us, he never would have imposed such harsh conditions and I've felt so incredibly guilty for that," she said shakily.

The blonde stormed across the room and grabbed Rachel, pulling her close, perhaps too close and too roughly, and rested her forehead against hers.

"Shut up," Quinn repeated, her voice raspy as she tried to explain. "He didn't cut me out because of you. He cut me out because of me. This is me. And yeah, maybe if we weren't together then I would have just caved. If it were some other girl who had suddenly made me realized this about myself maybe I would have been okay with playing it off like some sort of mistake and telling him what he wanted to hear, but you're not some girl, Rachel."

She could feel the other girl nodding and she reached to tilt the girl's chin up; their eyes locked together as she said what she had been struggling to put into words for so long.

"I thought I had given up on love, but I hadn't—I'd just given up on pretending," she breathed. "We haven't known each other very long, but that doesn't matter because part of me feels like I have known you forever. You make me happy; I've dated plenty of guys and been happy, but none of them made me happy. I just happened to be happy and never knew the difference. But then I met you and it all just became clear and I could never give that up now. I would never be able to go back—not knowing what really loving someone is like, not knowing what it really feels like to be loved back. This place was my life, but if I lose it, so be it; I could always try again, but I won't risk loosing you because I know something like this only happens once in a lifetime."

It was another rare occasion when Rachel was speechless and all she could seem to do was nod as Quinn led her out of the café and across the alleyway.

The next day flew by fast, right until the moment that Quinn had taken her seat on the makeshift stage. After that, time seemed to crawl by as she waited nervously, a steadily growing knot twisting in her stomach, for her moment to speak. She made a mental note to thank Santana for placing her last in the queue because it honestly was torture, though she suspected that had been the point. All the blonde could do was try to keep an unwavering smile on her face as she listened intently to everyone else as they spoke; it was difficult, especially when Mr. Puckerman nearly got booed of the stage for his list of reasons why it was 'totally awesome that chicks hook up' as his tolerance topic, but she managed not to join in on the crowds uproar—after all, he did mean well. The Chang-Cohen-Chang's talked about marriage, what it meant to them, and how they hoped that someday that right would be acknowledged for all couples. Unique spoke at length about the importance of being true to yourself above all else and about how she had sometimes failed at that when it came to more close-minded clients, and about how she had decided that from here on in, all of her clientele would be doing business with Unique from now on or not at all. Quinn had actually been surprised when Sugar Motta had somehow managed to put together a cohesive speech about accepting your child for who they really were; it wasn't eloquent and at times she rambled off topic, but in the end, it covered the general idea that your child should be able to feel however they feel without fear. Mr. Arthur's contribution was to announce the winner of the film festival and to declare that it would now officially be a yearly event. Santana and Brittany had sang a song together; Quinn made another mental note to taunt her friend for not coming up with a speech to give considering she had insisted that Quinn must speak for the finale.

Mr. Hummel and Mr. Anderson where finishing their joint speech and Quinn could feel the butterflies beating fiercely against the walls of her stomach; her mind tortured her with the idea that she might very well ruin her moment on stage by losing her lunch. Rachel's hand was wound around hers, keeping her grounded, and the blonde was grateful for the reassurance of the warm fingers gripping her own. Her hazel eyes broke from the crowd and rested on the brunette's face; her girlfriend smiled widely and applied more comforting pressure as they held hands. _You'll be great_, she mouthed. Quinn returned the smile and reluctantly turned her gaze back to the throng of people who filled the street; there were news vans parked along the blockade that had been set up and she took a large sip of water as she waited for her name to be called.

"So, as we wrap up both this evening and the week, please give your attention to Miss Quinn Fabray," Blaine announced.

She took in a deep breath and stood slowly, and Rachel stood with her; they walked briskly to the podium, but before Quinn could greet the crowd, she noticed that Blaine had removed the microphone. Her cheeks colored a little and she looked at him in confusion and noticed that all of the other speakers were standing as well; she looked back to Rachel, who merely shrugged, her face mirrored the confusion—this was not what they had discussed. The microphone had made its way down the line of business owners and was now in the hands of Brittany Pierce.

"For some people, it's easy to be yourself, but for some of us, the world still tries to tell us who we should be," she said before passing it to Santana.

"We worry about what the world will think of us, what people will say, what our families will do when they find out. Will they still love us if they know the truth?" Santana spoke clearly. "And that fear can be paralyzing if we let it."

"That fear can make us want to change or hide who we are," Unique added as she took the microphone. "But when we give in to that, we're not just hurting ourselves, we're hurting other people like us. So we have to shine, we have to be who we are no matter what we think we might lose."

Mercedes took over as she added, "Discrimination always starts the same, but if we don't take it, if we stand up and refuse to give up, it might not be fast, but change will happen but only if we demand it."

"And you can't stand by just because you think it doesn't apply to you," Sam added when it was his turn. "Everyone has to stand, everyone has to work, to be willing to see when something is wrong and do something about it."

"We like to think that people will change on their own," Artie said into the microphone. "We like to think the world is a much more open place than it really is sometimes. We like to forget that some people cling to labels and stereotypes and outdated ideas, but many still do."

"Kids worry about their families shutting them out," Sugar squeaked, causing a little feedback. "They don't think their parents will still love them if they knew."

"Who they love," Joe said. "Because some think the bible says it's wrong."

"What they are," Rory added. "Because people have plenty of insults to throw at them because they're different and they think that's a good enough excuse."

"How they express themselves," Puck said, eyeing the crowd. "Because it's not the way they'd do it."

"We worry about how this one little detail, out of all the things that make us who we are, will affect our everyday lives," Kurt continued. "If we let it, it can ruin our lives, but if we let that fear stop us from being who we really are—then it absolutely will. If we let it, it will take everything we have worked for away from us."

"Well," Blaine said as she took the microphone. "We aren't willing to let that happen. And that is why, with all of your help and proceeds from this week, we are going to take a stand and make a strike back at hatred."

Quinn's mind was racing as she waited for the microphone to be handed to her; it was too much, she had managed to prepare a speech, but was in no way ready to follow what had just taken place. Instead, though, what was being passed to her was thin slip of paper. As she stared down at it she realized it was a check, a very sizeable check, and for a moment her heart stopped.

"Many of us know what it's like to be shut out by either family or friends, or just the world in general at times." Blaine was still speaking and Quinn tried to focus. "But few of us know what it's like to have to make the choice between staying true to ourselves and losing everything. Most people don't have the courage."

Rachel's arms were around Quinn's waist; if they hadn't been, the blonde might have fainted. She was looking down at what had to be double what she needed to pay her father off and keep Cheerio.

"Quinn," he spoke evenly. "This is not a loan, it's not a bailout, it's not a buy out, and it's not a gift. It's an investment, from all of us, in the future and in you."

The crowd was roaring with applause and the microphone was now being passed to her. She lifted it to her lips and was utterly unsure of what she was going to say—the words she had planned were not enough.

"I'm not as brave as they would have you think," she admitted. "Not on my own, at least, but I am lucky enough to have someone who makes me brave." She turned to Rachel and smiled. "I came here today believing I was fighting a losing battle, but I still felt like I was winning because at least I would be who I truly am." After a short pause, she finished her speech. "I'm nothing special; I'm just a girl in love, but that makes me the luckiest person in the world. I hope that someday everyone will be free to feel as amazingly happy as I do, without having to worry what it will cost them, and I believe if we all work together, it can happen. Thank you."

* * *

**Thank you for making it all the way through that. I realize the ending is a little rushed but as I said in the open, this story really got away from me and so I had to reign it in at some point, but I hope it was still enjoyable none the less. Same as before please go to my tumblr or wordpress and vote for the story for the month of April. All the votes are in for the month of March so I will get started on that one ASAP and it should be up by the 31st.  
**

**Once again thank you so much for all the support you gave me on Chapters and please take a moment to review for Sweets as well. It would really help to get feedback so that I can improve; and it doesn't hurt that it will keep me inspired and excited to write. **


	3. Paws

******Third Installment. As a veterinarian, Rachel Berry is used to patching up the ailments of delicate creatures, but when it comes to Quinn Fabray's bruised and battered heart, the answers are a little less clear-cut. **

******Professions – Paws – Veterinarian/Lawyer**

**Huge thanks to everyone for your comments. I hope you enjoy this one as well.**

* * *

**Paws**

Quinn Fabray sipped her coffee slowly as she watched the woman across from her pick tentatively at her salad; her lips twisted into a lopsided smile. She liked to meet her clients here, at the tidy little restaurant just down the block from her office building, the evening before mediations. Quinn found that it tended to set people at ease because it gave the impression that the few matters they needed to discuss were merely small details. The restaurant was a more neutral setting than her large, impersonal office and the more relaxed her client was, the better they would handle the next day's proceedings.

"Are you enjoying your salad, Tina?" Quinn asked nonchalantly.

"Oh," her client replied. "Yes, it's fine; I guess I'm just not very hungry."

"You're nervous," she acknowledged and Tina nodded. "Well, you shouldn't be; tomorrow will go smoothly. I will say it again—you should be asking for more, Tina. This is an at-fault case and you would be well within your rights to demand more."

The woman across the table sighed and pushed the remains of her salad aside.

"I know you've said that, but I don't want to make this any uglier than it already is," Tina insisted. "I just want what I brought into the marriage and my babies."

The woman immediately looked embarrassed by what she had just said and Quinn reached across the short distance between them and patted her hand.

"Then that's what you'll get," she said lightly. "I promise. I'll fight this out as though I were trying to save my own."

"I know I shouldn't call them my babies," Tina said after letting out a nervous laugh. "It makes me sound like a crazy person, but they're all I have. Artie never wanted—he didn't want children, so he bought me the cats and now he wants to take them away."

"I won't let that happen," Quinn soothed.

She specialized in family law, specifically divorce, and she was good at her job. Quinn had handled many cases where her client didn't legally deserve what they were asking for and won, so this case should be a sure bet. The only hitch was Mr. Abrams' lawyer; they had a long standing competition going and she knew Mercedes Jones would pull out all the stops to win. Her rival would like nothing better than to take this clear cut mediation and turn it on its head just to be able to prove she could best Quinn Fabray, but Tina didn't need to know that. All her client needed to know was that she deserved custody of the pets and that she was better off without a husband like Artie. She continued to explain the key points of tomorrow's meeting, rattling off facts and tips that she had told her clients hundreds of times before, and it was a few minutes before she realized that Tina soon-to-be Cohen-Chang again wasn't listening.

Ms. Cohen-Chang was staring off into the opposite corner of the restaurant and Quinn followed her gaze. She wanted to curse, but since she was a professional, she simply rolled her eyes and cleared her throat.

_It figures,_ Quinn thought to herself. _I guess Miss Jones figured out this is where I do my final meetings. Still, this is tacky; it's completely out of line._

The blonde made a mental note to stake out a new location to hold her meetings—a place that her competition couldn't attempt to sabotage.

"Do you want to leave, Tina?" Quinn offered, catching the woman's attention. "We could go back to my office if you like."

"No," Tina replied, shaking her head. "I have to get used to seeing them together anyway."

Quinn nodded gravely.

"And I don't want to give _her_ the satisfaction of thinking I'm running away from her," the woman added, pulling her salad back in front of her.

The blonde smiled as Ms. Cohen-Chang began devouring her salad with determination etched on her face. Her client might be content to take the high road and be the bigger person, but that didn't mean that Quinn couldn't shoot an icy glare, one eyebrow arched, at the couple across the room. The woman was clearly over-exaggerating her laugh to try to catch Tina's attention, but when she ventured a glance back to see if it was working, she was met by a pair of narrowed hazel eyes. Quinn smirked when she saw the look on the other woman's face and when she spun around quickly in her chair and fell suddenly silent.

"Take your time," she agreed without attempting to hide the satisfaction in her voice.

Quinn repeated the information she had been doling out before they were interrupted and her client listened attentively. If this was the Tina that arrived at their mediation tomorrow then they would have no trouble what so ever; it was encouraging to see her client being more self-assured. After every sliver of salad was gone and every last sip of water slowly savored, Tina stood up.

"I'm ready," she said as she took a deep breath.

As they exited the restaurant, Quinn turned her head ever so slightly, catching Mr. Abrams attention as she locked eyes with him. The edges of her mouth curled up into a superior smirk. It was obvious that the man was embarrassed at the spectacle they had been making and he looked away quickly.

* * *

Before Quinn even had her keys out of her pocket, she could hear excited shuffling on the other side of the door. The familiar thump-thump-thumping of a heavy tail against the hardwood floor and panting that threatened to become a whine brought a genuine smile to her face. She squeezed through the door, careful not to let Romeo slip past her, and the Golden Retriever barked an ecstatic hello as he bounded up on her, knocking her brief case out of he hand.

"You big dummy." Quinn chortled, her tone slipping into a soft and playful tone as she ran her fingers through his fur. "Did you miss me? Did you? Who's a good boy?"

Romeo licked frantically at her hands and face, causing her nose to wrinkle, but her eyes sparkled, and she shook him with a few more rough tousles of his coat.

"I missed you too, Roamy," the blonde crooned. "Now go get it! Where's your leash?"

The dog let out another bark and dashed down the hallway and Quinn picked up her briefcase quickly, setting it on the hall table. She instinctively checked her answering machine, but there were no messages. Romeo's nails clattered down the hall and she made a mental note that he was due for a trim; he sat patiently with the long blue leash dangling in his mouth as Quinn changed out of her work clothes into some sports wear. The blonde paused after slipping out of her business appropriate heels, letting out a sigh at the relief, and rubbed her foot. Whimpering echoed from the bedroom doorway and she let out another sigh as she slipped on a pair of socks and laced up her running shoes.

"Alright, Romeo," Quinn said with a smile. "Let's go."

The Golden Retriever panted excitedly as he trotted along side his owner; they started out at a jog, but by time they drew near the park, they had slowed to a more leisurely pace. Romeo sniffed curiously at all the objects they passed and Quinn beamed proudly as people stopped them to ask if they could pet the dog. He was friendly, maybe a little less trained than he should be, but after all, she was busy most days, and she never worried about him growling or barking—at worst he might jump up too eagerly, but no one seemed to mind.

The sun was beginning to set, but Quinn didn't feel ready to return home just yet; instead, she unlatched the gate to the fenced off area of the park reserved for dogs and let Romeo off his leash. Normally he would have bounded off to find another dog to play with, but the dog-park was empty, so she reached into the pocket of her light denim jacket and pulled out a tennis ball. Her pet tensed and sat up into a begging position, his brown eyes fixed intently on the object of his desire. After several rounds of fetch, Quinn took a seat on bench in a well lit area; Romeo bounded up to her, tennis ball in mouth, and she laughed. He always looked like he was smiling and it always seemed to perk her spirits up.

"What would I ever do without you?" she asked her pet as he dropped the ball in her lap and nudged it with his nose.

Quinn hurled the now sloppy toy and watched as Romeo gave chase. Her mind flashed back to her meeting with Ms. Cohen-Chang and what she had promised her and she let out a sigh. This time when the Golden Retriever returned he hopped up on the bench and rested his head on her lap; she stroked his golden fur and sighed again.

"Why are people so awful, huh?" she addressed him but was truly speaking to herself. "I guess I wouldn't have a job if they weren't, would I? But still, every time I think I've seen the pettiest behavior, some jerk comes along determined to outdo the last one."

Romeo panted and looked up at her with soulful eyes.

"Mr. Abrams is a real piece of work," Quinn explained. "My client is _giving_ him the house and most of their assets. She's not even asking for alimony even though she is going to have to find a job, find a better place to live than the crap-hole apartment she's in now, and start her whole life over. Even after she caught him cheating with some ridiculous little spoiled piece of—"

The dog whimpered at her tone and she sighed. "Well she's not a very classy girl, I'll just leave it at that. All she wants is the property that was already hers and her cats."

Romeo let out a little bark and a huff at the four-letter-word and she chuckled.

"I know, you don't see what the big deal is, huh? They're just c-a-t-s," Quinn said teasingly as she ruffled the fur behind his ear. "But they're her c-a-t-s and he has no right to try to keep them just because 'sugibear' wants them. No, they're not Sugar's to take; I'm not going to let him get away with that."

His tail was thumping against the bench and she slipped his leash back on. He was a good listener, but something about this case was bothering her more than usual. Quinn reasoned that it was probably the fact that Miss Jones had sent the couple to interrupt their meeting, but she had to admit that she herself wasn't above doing the same thing—sometimes you had to do little things to catch your competition off guard. Mercedes didn't really have a leg to stand on; Tina wasn't asking for anything extravagant. The other lawyer would be hard pressed to find a way to paint Ms. Cohen-Chang as the villain, but it wasn't impossible.

_Everyone is always the villain in these things,_ Quinn thought to herself as they reached the sidewalk. _No one wants to be the reason it didn't work out. Even the guilty ones want to pass the buck. _

That was why she had gotten into family law in the first place; when she was in college, she had been in a relationship, head-over-heels, in fact, and she had dreamed that they would open their own law firm—they would have been unstoppable. Quinn had even believed that if she and San—she flinched as the name flashed in her memory—had put their minds to it, they would have same sex marriage legal nation wide in no time. That's not how things had turned out, though; the way things turned out was she-who-must-not-be-named had cheated on her with some pre-med or zoologist or something. Quinn couldn't remember now. She'd never met the girl that you-know-who had left her for; she'd never even seen her. All she knew was one day, out of the blue, she had returned to her dorm room to find her girlfriend packing, and the next thing she knew, they were fighting. The price of having a highly passionate relationship is the fire goes both ways and by the time her ex was done moving her things out, it was all out war. Quinn had lost most of her friends that semester thanks to _her_ lying about why she had left, and the blonde had decided they must not have been very good friends at all to believe it. So, she buried herself deeper into her classes and when all was said and done, she had the tools she needed to be sure that her clients would get their fair chance when relationships ended. Everyone wanted to be the victim, especially the ones most at fault, because that was how people dealt with a relationship that had fallen apart.

Quinn hadn't really dated since then and her current profession didn't make her any more inclined to jump back into the ring. Humans weren't built for monogamy, at least that was her assessment, and it just seemed best to avoid the love trap all together. The blonde had a theory that the best way to go about companionship relied on a series of rules. Get your primary needs casually; leave your emotional attachments to friendships and family, if you had family; and keep romance out of it. There were plenty of people in the world willing to share a night with no strings attached; as long as one was cautious and responsible, there was no reason to latch on to anyone. It wasn't that Quinn didn't believe in love—she did—but she wasn't foolish enough to presume that it was unbreakable. Just because it exists doesn't mean it would last or that everyone would find it. She seemed to be doing fine as she was; she had Romeo for companionship and whenever she became restless, she knew what to do to relieve her tension. It was as simple as heading to the nearest bar, spending a few hours finding someone easy on the eyes and not completely useless, and then returning home with whatever girl or guy that measured up to the task. True, she didn't have very many personal friends, but she was well liked by her coworkers at Karofsky, Hummel, & Hart, the firm she worked for, so she had more than enough human contact. Perhaps she would have more friends from her visits to the dog-park if the various other pet owners didn't keep trying to make their camaraderie more intimate, which inevitably always happened.

Quinn stopped at the patio door and stooped down to wipe Romeo's paws before unlocking the door and letting him loose in the house. She wasn't lonely; she had all the company she needed, and he was the perfect surrogate to family since hers had cut off all ties once she came out as bisexual in college. The blonde heard the clattering of his ID tag against the large ceramic water bowl as she slipped off her shoes and jacket before double checking that the gate to her yard was closed and then headed into the kitchen to give Romeo his dinner.

* * *

Quinn's client had taken her advice; Tina's hair, make-up, nails, and clothing were meticulous and very becoming. Mr. Abrams was obviously affected by it; he also still seemed slightly shaken from yesterdays failed attempted to fluster his ex. With both lawyers and a secretary present, Artie was dodging Sugar's expressions of PDA and the woman sat with her arms crossed and a pronounced pout on her lips. The mediation was proceeding smoothly with both parties behaving amicably, but they were nearing the hot button topic and Quinn was eager to see how this would all play out.

"Everything seems settled for division of property," Mercedes said as she shuffled her papers. "So all that's left is ownership of the two pets."

"Ms. Cohen-Chang would prefer to retain custody the animals in question," Quinn stated evenly; it was common knowledge, but she expressed it for the record.

"Well Mr. Abrams and Miss Motta would also prefer to retain custody," Mercedes drawled.

"I believe that considering the grounds on which divorce is being sought, combined with Ms. Cohen-Chang's generous refusal to request a more balanced share of their joint assets, it is not unreasonable for her to request that he relinquish his claim on the cats," Quinn countered.

"They're purebreds," Artie interjected. "They weren't cheap and I am the one who bought them for her."

"Exactly, Mr. Abrams, you bought them _for_ her," the blonde pointed out. "That makes them a gift, which implies ownership truly belongs to my client. Am I correct in assuming that your main reason for requesting custody is that Miss Motta wants them?"

"My client has just as much right to the pets as yours, Miss Fabray," Mercedes interjected, stopping Artie from answering the question.

"Well in that case, Miss Jones I feel I should make you aware that we are prepared to pursue this issue to the furthest available extent," Quinn retorted.

"Then I feel I should let you know that if you want to take this before a judge, it won't be as easy as you might think," her competition spat back. "Mr. Abrams could earn himself a lot of sympathy with a judge."

"Sympathy?" she scoffed.

"Yes, sympathy," Mercedes repeated. "Maybe Ms. Cohen-Chang here got tired of dealing with his handicap; maybe she became cold and aloof with him and Miss Motta here was nothing more than a compassionate ear that miraculously blossomed into a romance due to an absence of intimacy and affection from his wife."

"You're reaching," Quinn said coldly. "My client has given this man everything, despite the fact that he doesn't deserve her continued kindness. How many husbands get to keep the house, the car, and get to keep all their funds intact?"

"Of course she's letting him keep the house and the car," the other lawyer spat back. "They were specifically designed to accommodate him."

"And the cats were purchased specifically to placate my client," she fired back. "To 'accommodate' if you will, her desire to have children."

It was getting heated and the secretary scribbled furiously trying to keep up.

"Please," Tina said quietly, barely audible over the quick-paced bickering and legal babbled flying between Quinn and Mercedes, but it got their attention.

Her client looked Mr. Abrams in the eyes as she spoke slowly and softly.

"Artie, please," she said, her tone not eager but not begging. "Don't you think you've hurt me enough? You never even liked Jack and Madeline; you always complained that they were in your way and they didn't take to you, so why can't you just give me this? Can't you see how much worse it is that you want to give them to _her_?"

"What's wrong with me?" Sugar squealed, but her boyfriend shushed her quickly.

Everyone was silent; Quinn held her breath, and the ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room.

"You're right," Mr. Abrams finally admitted.

"But baby!" Sugar said shrilly.

"I can buy you your own cats," Artie snapped. "I just want this over with."

Quinn could see that he never wanted custody to begin with; she'd seen lots of men who'd been caught cheating draw out the divorce process for as long as possible simply hoping their ex would change their minds. She suspected this was the case with him, though she had to admit, if that's what he was hoping for, it might have been wiser to drop the girlfriend. It was a typical mistake; most men didn't want to sever ties with the other woman completely in case things didn't pan out.

"So, you're saying that you are prepared to finalize the divorce on these terms?" she asked.

"Yes." Mr. Abrams nodded.

* * *

Quinn celebrated her victory by leaving work a couple of hours early; as she fished in her pocket for her keys, she noticed that she didn't hear the regular panting or thumping on the other side of the door. It made sense; Romeo was used to her arriving at a certain time every day, so he probably wasn't expecting her. As she let herself in, she set down her briefcase and pressed the messages button on her machine.

"You win this time, Fabray, I'll give you that," Mercedes' voice buzzed out of the machine. "But don't get too cocky; next time I'd gonna be all Jones."

She smiled and shook her head; the woman was strong competition in the court room, but she was pleasant enough in person. Quinn would almost consider her a friend—almost. Miss Jones's message continued to play—more lighthearted, half-joking trash talk—as Quinn entered the bedroom. She had expected to find Romeo curled up on his doggie bed or even on her bed taking a nap, but the room was empty. The blonde tiptoed to the living room to see if she could catch him snoozing on the couch, which was an absolute no-no because of how expensive it had been and how every hair he shed stood out like a sore thumb against the dark fabric, but that room was also empty.

"Romeo, Romeo, where for art thou Romeo?" Quinn said laughingly without any response. "Roamy?"

Something was wrong; her heart began to beat a little faster as she checked her office, then the dining room, followed by spare room, and finally the kitchen. Quinn rolled her eyes when she saw that the sliding glass door was slightly ajar. The Golden Retriever sometimes managed to nudge it open if he spent enough time digging at it. She pulled it all the way open and stuck her head out into the back yard.

"Raomy!" She called.

Her hazel eyes scanned the back yard and she let out a curse when she saw that the gate was fully open. She dashed back inside to grab her keys; it could take all afternoon to find him unless he wandered back on his own. Panic was quickly taking root. How long had he been out? How would she find him? What if he had been hit by a car? Her machine beeped and the voice of the firm's secretary sounded over the speaker, but she didn't have time to worry about next weeks appointments. Quinn rushed outside calling his name over and over again, listening for his bark in between each call. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and pulled it out, there was voicemail waiting for her on it as well. She was about to head down the sidewalk before she realized she was leaving her house unlocked and both doors open, so she hurried inside to close and lock the doors.

As she headed back up the hallway from securing the patio doors, an unfamiliar voice was playing over the machine. "Romeo," it played before clicking off.

Quinn stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the machine. She hit the button again and skipped the previous messages before she came to the last recording.

"Hello, Miss Fabray, this is Rachel Berry calling from Berry, Beiste, & Corcoran Animal Clinic on East Maiden Street. I'm calling to notify you that I found your dog and I have him here whenever it is convenient for you to pick him up. Don't be alarmed, he is absolutely fine. I will also contact you on the cell number listed on his tags. I'll be staying late at the clinic today if you want to give me a call back or simply stop by to pick up Romeo."

Quinn pulled her phone back out and listened to the message, which was nearly identical, as she headed to the car. She considered calling ahead of time, but decided it would be faster to just drive there now than have to wait to finish the call before starting the car. The blonde drove must faster than she should have been, but she felt certain that she could talk her way out of a ticket if anyone were to pull her over, and when she saw the veterinary clinic come into view, she parked quickly and hurried inside.

"I'm here about my dog, Romeo." She panted, catching her breath as she reached the counter.

The redhead behind the desk looked startled but smiled. "You must be Miss Fabray. I'll just need you to fill out this release form and we will need two forms of ID to verify your identity."

"Thank you." Quinn sighed as she took a seat and began fishing out her driver's license and employee ID.

She filled out the information at the desk and then handed it all over to the receptionist.

"Okay, looks like this is all in order." Her nametag said Emma and she smiled again. "If you want to take a seat over there, Dr. Berry will be with you shortly."

The blonde reluctantly took a seat in the waiting room, her left knee bobbing up and down nervously, and watched the door to the other room. It seemed like an eternity before the door opened and a short brunette crossed the waiting room and approached the desk, carrying a very large cat in her arms.

"Emma, would you mind if our guest stays out here for a while? He's been meowing incessantly back in the kennel and I believe he is arguing with Mr. Piddles and Miss Kitty Fantasico ; it's just far too distracting to hear him causing such a ruckus," she said, placing the cat in a large basket on the counter.

"That's not a problem at all," the redhead replied. "His owners are picking him back up in two days; I think he will make very good company. Oh, Miss Fabray is here about Romeo."

"Thank you," the vet said, turning away from the desk.

"We'll be ready for Seamus in just a few minutes," the brunette assured the two women, waiting with their dog tucked between them in the waiting room before turning to face Quinn. "Miss Fabray? I'm Rachel Berry; if you don't mind to wait here for just a moment while I go back to retrieve Romeo."

The receptionist giggled behind her and they both looked at her in confusion.

"I thought you were making a play on words," the redhead sputtered. "You're retrieving the retriever, so I thought—but I guess I was mistaken; n-never mind, I'm sorry."

The brunette chuckled lightly before turning her attention back to the blonde. "I'll be right back."

With that, the woman disappeared behind the door again; Quinn glanced over at the other two pet owners and their small black and white dog wedged between them. It looked terrified—it was trembling and blatantly not looking at something. She followed its sideways glances to the cat on the counter, which was much bigger than the dog, and it was staring poor little Seamus down hard.

"Lord Tubbington," the receptionist chastised as it let out a hiss towards the already petrified pooch. "What would your momma say if I told her you were scaring poor little doggies."

"Oh, he's scared of everything," one of the women, another redhead, spoke. "He'll get over it."

"Yeah, he's a wuss, but we love him." The other woman nodded.

Moments later, Romeo was bounding towards Quinn, who sunk down on her knees to embrace the Golden Retriever and let him lick face.

"Roamy!" she baby talked at him. "You little stinker! You scared me to death, yes you did." His breath was not as abrasive and his fur was especially soft. It dawned on her that she was making quite a spectacle of herself and her cheeks began to burn. She glanced up at the vet and made a mental note that she was absolutely stunning, which only embarrassed her more.

"Did you give him a bath?" Quinn asked, trying to regain some sense of professionalism.

"Well, he was quite a mess when I found him at the dog-park on my lunch break," Dr. Berry explained. "I'm not sure exactly what he rolled in, but it wasn't pleasant; also I wasn't sure how long he might have been roaming free, so I thought a flea and tick bath might do him some good, just in case. Then I thought I might as well give him a small dose of de-wormer for good measure—you can never be too careful after all—and clipped his nails. I hope you don't mind."

"And the tooth cleaning," Emma chirped from behind the desk.

Quinn sighed and pulled up her purse, she wasn't going to complain. "How much?"

"Oh no," the brunette shook her head, "no charge."

Her jaw dropped and the vet giggled.

"Believe me, I understand how stressful it can be when a pet goes missing. I simply wanted to make your reunion as good as it could be," she explained. "I wouldn't dream of charging you for that, especially since you didn't actually request any of the services."

"But I should give you something," Quinn said with a shake of her head. "For your trouble at least."

"It's all part of being a veterinarian," Rachel insisted.

The brunette didn't look like she was going to back down and the blonde's head was swimming. Romeo barked and nuzzled his nose against Quinn's palm and she snapped to.

"Thank you again," she said, feeling lame the moment it left her lips. "For everything."

"No trouble whatsoever." The woman smiled back. "You two take care now."

Dr. Berry was calling the other two women into the back room and Quinn thanked the receptionist again and she gripped the leash a little tighter than usual as she opened the door and headed for the car. She made a mental note to switch vets immediately.

* * *

Rachel hummed to herself as she walked down the sidewalk with her Westie, Maria, trotting happily beside her. Sunday mornings were Rachel's favorite time; she would walk Maria to the dog park for exercise and play. Many of the people she met in the park were now clients of hers, and they all knew her little companion well—the West Highland White Terrier was very well trained and friendly. Like most small dogs, she was completely unaware of her size and was never intimidated by the larger canines. Her large repertoire of tricks and her spunky antics made her everyone's favorite little tale-wager. Despite the pride Rachel felt whenever she was able to show Maria off, she liked Sunday mornings the best because the park was still sparsely populated and quieter, meaning she would have more time to think and a slight break from all the questions that people inevitably harried her with because she was a veterinarian. It wasn't that the brunette didn't love her work or that she minded lending a helpful hand or a little advice from time to time, but it was nice to be off the clock and not feel that she needed to 'talk shop'. It was nice to just be Rachel Berry out for a walk with her dog.

Even though Maria played well with other pups, her lack of fear when it came to the larger breeds sometimes scared Rachel. As well behaved and trained as the Westie was, she did have her breaking point—her toys. Maria simply didn't believe in sharing. The brunette sometimes worried that one day her precious pet would find herself in a dangerous position if she tried to retrieve her ball from the wrong dog, but she tried not to let that ruin her visits to the park.

Already she could see a handful of people using the dog-park, but only two of the dogs were much bigger than hers; as she unlatched the gate and entered the fenced in area, she eyed the Rottweiler at the far end of the fence and took a deep breath before shutting the gate securely. Rachel reminded herself that with the proper training and a kind owner, any dog could be sweet and cuddly, but she still felt a little uneasy as she unhooked Maria's collar. She wound the pink leash neatly and tucked it into the canvas bag she was carrying and retrieved a mini-tennis ball. The brunette jumped a little when she heard angry barking across the field and she jerked her head towards the sound of the commotion. The Rottweiler was growling angrily at a peculiar little mutt, who instantly turned and retreated hastily to its owners without retrieving its toy, and she heard the larger dog's owner apologize as he gripped his pet's collar and tossed the knotted rope back to the two women, who were now consoling their own pup. She recognized both them and their dogs as regulars of hers; the stubby pooch that was now yapping away at the bigger canine from safely behind their legs was named Daisy and she could see Seamus snuggled in the redhead's arms. She smiled and waved; they'd been customers of her for over a year and Rachel thought they were a lovely couple.

Maria was begging at her feet, one paw scratching the air in front of her, as she waited for the tennis ball to be thrown. Rachel turned her attention back to her own pet and tossed the ball carefully in the opposite direction of ill-mannered cur. After half an hour, the brunette felt better and felt more comfortable throwing the ball farther than two to three feet at a time. The Westie came prancing back to her with the yellow orb clamped between her teeth and dropped it in front of her with a short yip. She bounced back and forth on either side of the ball as if to say _come on, really throw it this time_ and Rachel obliged by hurling the toy as hard as she could. Maria was suddenly a tiny white blur as she pursued it and soon she dipped over a hill and disappeared from sight. The brunette waited for her to reappear with her proud little canter, ready for more as always, but the seconds ticked by and the Westie hadn't returned. Rachel took a few steps forward and stood on her tiptoes, trying to see down the hill, but her pet still didn't come into view. She took in a deep breath and glanced around the park; her brown eyes darted around in search of the Rottweiler, but it was nowhere to be seen. The brunette began walking quickly in the direction Maria had dashed off; she was nearly ready to break into an all out run when the tennis ball came flying towards her with a bounding white rocket chasing after it. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief and called Maria back over to her.

A familiar Golden Retriever appeared over the hill, followed by an equally familiar blonde, who waved cheerfully to her.

"Thank you," Rachel hailed the woman, returning the wave.

The pair approached them and the retriever jumped up on the brunette, obviously recognizing her, and she laughed.

"Romeo," Quinn sighed, "down."

"He's fine," Rachel assured her. "Miss Fabray, right?"

"Quinn," the blonde responded. "Dr. Berry. I try to get him not to just assault everyone when he's excited, but it just never sticks."

"Well, some dogs are just extra affectionate." The brunette shrugged.

"I wanted to thank you again for everything you did when he got out," the woman said. "I have the gate double latched now to keep that from happening again."

"Consider us even," Rachel replied. "I nearly had a heart attack when I lost sight of Maria just now, so you can imagine how relieved I was when you sent her back this way."

"She's a cutie." Quinn nodded, taking a seat on a nearby bench.

Rachel dug into the canvas bag and pulled out her leash, looping it around the arm of the bench before reattaching it to Maria's collar and taking a seat next to Quinn.

"I'm here nearly every day," she commented, "Actually, that's how I found Romeo that day; he was pacing back and forth outside the gate. I'm surprised I haven't seen you here before."

"You probably have, though I usually come later in the day, but the weather was so nice I just couldn't wait until afternoon." Quinn shrugged.

"No," Rachel said offhandedly. "I definitely would have remembered if I'd seen you before."

Her cheeks suddenly warmed and she hoped that the blonde didn't notice the color rushing to her cheeks. She busied herself by lifting the bag of dog supplies onto her lap and removed a bowl and bottle of water; she placed the bowl on the ground and filled it, casting a quick glance over her shoulder at the other woman as she did so.

"You're a lot more prepared than I ever am," she commented, her hazel eyes twinkling a little as she spoke.

"Well," the brunette sighed, "Maria is so active, and after all, I am a veterinarian. How would it look if I wasn't overly prepared?"

"Makes sense," Quinn chuckled, "and it's a much kinder thing to say than I'm a crappy momma."

"Oh no!" Rachel exclaimed. "I mean, it's not as though the park didn't have plenty of water sources for the dogs. I'm simply over protective, which isn't always prudent; for instance—if I were less pensive I wouldn't have nearly gone into hysterics merely because she was out of my sight for a moment."

"After what happened last week, I can completely understand that," the blonde replied. "I thought I was going to pass out when I realized he'd gone missing."

The woman looked her over slowly and a sly smile curled across her face.

"Though I guess you might have been a little quick with the hysterics," she said playfully, giving her a quick wink. "I mean we are fenced in here. How far could she go?"

"In my defense, there was a very unfriendly Rottweiler here when I arrived and Marie is sometimes too brave for her own good," Rachel said quickly.

"I was only joking." Quinn laughed.

They were quiet for a few moments, listening to the sounds of both their pets lapping up the water and other sounds of the dog-park.

"What do you do for a living?" Rachel asked to break the silence.

"I practice family law," the blonde responded lightly.

"That sounds interesting," she responded. "So what all does that entail?"

"Prenuptials, civil unions, child custody, adoptions, emancipation," Quinn listed casually. "But mostly I deal with divorces"

"Oh." Rachel gasped. "Doesn't that ever become depressing?"

"Sometimes," the woman shrugged, "but it's going to happen anyway, right? So all I really do is make sure it goes as smoothly for my clients as possible."

"I suppose that makes sense." She sighed. "Do your clients ever change their minds? Like half way through they just realize they're meant for each other and call off the divorce?"

She watched as Miss Fabray worked her jaw for a few seconds before answering. "Sort of; sometimes they decide against it, but I'd say nine times out of ten, they end up right back in my office in under a year."

"So, that means that once in a while, it works," Rachel pointed out. "Maybe that's why love stories are so popular—because they give everyone hope."

"Maybe." Quinn shrugged.

She could see in the other woman's hazel eyes that she didn't really have much hope and that made her sad and sorry for bringing up the topic in the first place. Melancholy didn't suit Quinn's complexion at all and Rachel felt a sudden urge to find some way to cheer her up.

"Maria," she said quickly and the Westies's ears perked up. "Dance, Maria."

Her pet hopped up quickly and bounced on her hind legs; Rachel glanced over at the blonde next to her and was relieved to see a smile on her face. She fished in the bag for a treat and rewarded the still dancing pup.

"That's amazing." Quinn breathed.  
"Oh, she's a big ham," she said casually. "She loves to show off. Maria, sing."

The white ball of fluff sat and let out a series of barks, yip-yip-howl, and wagged her tail eagerly as she waited for her treat. Romeo barked sporadically as well and his tail swept back and forth fiercely as he waited for a reward for his efforts. Rachel chuckled and tossed one of the beefy bits his way.

"How many tricks does she know?" the blonde asked, laughing as the retriever continued to bark, obviously thinking that was the key to more tasty morsels.

"She can play dead, fetch several objects by name, beg, roll over, and walk on her front paws," Rachel said proudly. "Does Romeo do any?"

"I don't know if it counts as a trick, but he knows several words by heart," Quinn mused. "Like kitchen, toy, treat, walk, car, bath, vet, and cats."

The Golden Retriever let out a low grumble and Rachel laughed.

"I guess all dogs do that, so it wouldn't really count as anything special." The woman laughed with a shrug. "He does get his own leash when I tell him to."

"Well, that's more than most pets learn really," she assured her.

They were silent again and Rachel caught herself peeking over to study Quinn again. She loved the look on the blonde's face when she would reach down and pat the Golden Retriever on the head. On top of the fact that she was absolutely gorgeous, the fact that she clearly loved her pet was a real turn-on, and the brunette found that she couldn't seem to stop staring. Her face colored a little when a pair of hazel eyes caught her ogling and one blonde eyebrow cocked a little before her hand reached up to rub her face as though she thought something must be smeared somewhere on it. She darted her brown eyes away from Quinn and cleared her throat.

"I noticed you scheduled Romeo for a basic check-up in a few weeks," Rachel commented, hoping to breeze over the fact that she had just been gawking at the blonde.

"Well how could I not?" Quinn asked. "You're obviously the best vet in town."

Rachel's phone chimed from the bottom of the bag and she sighed.

"Oh dear," she groaned, "is it really ten already? I have to go home and get tidied up for a lunch meeting."

_Date_, she thought to herself, _it's a lunch date,_ but she didn't want to say the word in front of the exquisite woman sitting next to her.

"Well, it was nice talking to you." Quinn sighed as she stood up. "We should probably be headed home, too, anyway."

As she emptied out the bowl and placed it back into the bag, her phone began to ring; she held up one finger as she slid the thumb of her other hand across the screen and held it to her ear.

"Rachel," her friend said over the phone. "I'm sorry, but it turns out Finn's friend can't make it today. I hope that doesn't ruin your whole day, but she's going to have to reschedule. Is that alright? She really is excited to meet you; it's just that some family situation came up."

"Oh, that's fine; thank you for letting me know," she answered a little too happily. "Um, I'm a little busy at the moment. Can I call you back later?"

"Sure, no problem," they answered quickly. "Sorry again."

"Not at all—these things happen. Maybe next time?" Rachel said lightly. "Talk to you soon."

She dropped the phone back into the bag, barely able to contain her mirth, and turned her attention back to Quinn. She felt a little guilty for being so happy that the blind date had gone south, but it wasn't like she had actually backed out of it. This was just a lucky break.

"Well, it seems my lunch has been canceled," she explained.

"Oh," Quinn replied as she clipped the leash to her dog's collar. "That's too bad. So now what are you going to do?"

"I don't know; I'd still like to go out somewhere to lunch," Rachel said carefully as she began to unloop Maria's leash from the bench. "I wasn't planning on cooking anything today, but it seems a tad pathetic to go out to a restaurant alone."

She wondered if Quinn realized what she was hinting at, she wondered if the blonde realized how attracted she was to her, and she wondered if she would be receptive to it if she did.

"Yeah," the blonde sighed, "it's a tough decision."

Rachel sighed as she shouldered the bag and inwardly berated herself for thinking someone so out of her league would go for such a feeble advance. With a timid wave, she turned to leave, but then, inexplicably, she reached into her pocket and pulled out one of her business cards. She turned back to Quinn and held out the sliver of paper.

"Obviously you have the office number," she said boldly. "But my work cell number is on there as well—just in case you needed it for anything."

"Like an emergency?" the blonde asked, taking the card, and slipping it into her own pocket.

"Or just questions," Rachel said emphatically. "I always have it on me. Usually people just text their questions to me and I'll respond as soon as I can."

"Well, thank you," Quinn responded with a smile. "I appreciate it."

"Alright," she nodded back, feeling even more foolish now than ever, "well, I guess I will see you both on the 15th."

"Yeah, bright and early." Miss Fabray nodded.

"Okay," Rachel sighed as she turned back around, "goodbye. Have a nice day."

"You too," the woman called after her.

Maria trotted blissfully at her side as they made their way home; her furry friend was completely unaware of her owner's distress, and she paused at every object they passed on the slow walk. It was for the best Rachel assured herself; after all, Romeo was a patient of hers, so it was probably inappropriate for her to be making a pass at his owner. That was one of the doctor codes, right? Nothing good ever came of mixing business with pleasure, or at least that was what she was convincing herself of in the wake of being shot down. Perhaps she should call her friend or Finn back and find out when their friend would be available next. As if on cue, her cell began to ring and she stopped abruptly to fish it out of the bottom of the bag again, inadvertently jerking the Westie to a halt. Maria yipped indignantly as Rachel crooned out an apology and answered the phone without checking the screen.

"Hello? Rachel Berry speaking," she said cheerfully.

"Hi. Um," Quinn's voice sounded in her ear. "I just realized I don't feel like cooking anything either. If you don't have plans, would you like to go eat somewhere in about an hour?"

"Quinn?" her voice pitched a little and she cleared her throat. "Yes, of course, that sounds fine to me."

"Good," the woman responded. "It'd be nice not to have to go alone. Lunch is always better with a friend."

_ A friend_; it wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear, but it would do. "I agree. Where would you like to go?"

"Doesn't matter to me," Quinn said lightly. "Just pick a place and call me before you leave."

Rachel chewed her lip for a moment before asking, "Are you sure? I don't want to pick a restaurant you might hate. Maybe you should at least steer me in a certain direction so you don't end up disappointed."

"Nope," the blonde replied with a laugh. "Surprise me."

"Okay," she said uncertainly. "I'll call you back soon."

"Alright, if I don't answer then just leave it in voicemail or text it," Quinn instructed. "Bye."

"Goodbye," Rachel breathed as she let the phone drift away from her face.

Her arm hung loosely at her side as what had just happened slowly sunk in. The brunette's cheeks were blazing red and her mind was already listing and simultaneously crossing off restaurants to consider. Maria strained against the leash and let out another agitated bark. _Come on, let's go,_ she seemed to be insisting, and a wide smile spread across Rachel's face as she resumed walking at a quick pace.

* * *

Lunch had gone well, though Rachel had nearly driven herself mad trying to select the right restaurant with no information whatsoever as to Quinn's preferences, but it seemed fairly clear that the blonde was looking strictly for friendship. That was okay; it wouldn't have been the first time that she had found herself in the dreaded 'friend-zone'. At any rate, she was always glad to make a new friend.

Over the following months, her feelings had slowly eased down, suppressed by her subconscious, and the brunette came to think of Quinn as little more than a close friend. It was understandable that she would have been attracted to the blonde—anyone with half decent vision would have been—but that didn't mean it was love. Rachel was well aware of the differences between love and lust, and once she had grown accustomed to seeing the beautiful girl on a regular basis, those base feelings began to fade. They had a regular Sunday morning play-date for the dogs and then they would either go to lunch or out to coffee.

Quinn was a hard woman to read; even after nearly three months, Rachel still felt she knew very little about her personal life beyond the fact that Romeo was the most important 'furson' in her life. When Rachel would talk about dates she had gone on, and how they fizzled instead of sizzled, her friend would merely shrug and say it was for the best.

"You're looking for that one out of ten, remember?" Quinn would say. "So it's just as well that number nine didn't work out."

The blonde never talked about dates, or crushes, or even types; their chats usually stayed so void of romance that the friendship quickly adopted a platonic feeling, and by now, Rachel had forgotten about the little spark of emotional electricity from the day they had met. A strong bond of friendship had taken root and the brunette often contemplated how strange it was that they could be such an integral part of each other's lives without really knowing many of the basics. She'd never been to Quinn's home, never stopped by the office, never met her co-workers, and never heard the girl talk about her family. The blonde had also never been to Rachel's loft, to the shelter she volunteered at, she showed no interest in getting to know Dr. Berry's co-workers, and had never accompanied her to the bar where she did karaoke once a week. They mostly played with Romeo and Maria before taking them home and then meeting up again at a restaurant or café later that day. Every week they explored a new place, though eventually they would run out of unvisited eateries in the city, and would sit and talk for a few hours, but it was easily the best few hours of Rachel's week.

It was Friday evening and there was only one more appointment on Rachel's schedule for the day. She skipped briskly to the counter to pick up her last patient's paperwork and Finn gave her a quick smile.

"You're awful happy today," the tech commented as he slapped on a band-aid. "Gonna head out early and try to catch Romeo at the park?"

"Perhaps," she shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant, "if they happen to be there. Oh my; Lord Tubbington scratched you much deeper than I thought."

"It's nothing," he said with a shrug. "I've had worse. Little monster doesn't like to get his nails trimmed. He's always pissier when Santana brings him here than when Brittany does. She's a bad influence on him."

"Finn!" Shannon called from the back room. "Hurry it up! It's a long drive out to old man Figgins' farm and that horse ain't gonna mend itself."

"Coming!" Finn called back to Dr. Beiste before turning back to Rachel.

"Mind if I just go home after we're done at the farm?" he asked. "We kind of have plans and I'd like a little time to get the horse smell off of me."

"I think I'll allow it," she said lightly. "Since it's for the good of one of my best friends and workers."

"You really ought to just go ahead and ask Miss Fabray out," he commented as he slipped on his coat. "Then we could all double-date."

"We're just friends!" Rachel snapped at him as he ducked out the door.

"We're just friends," she repeated to Emma, who was looking at her skeptically.

"I know," the redhead replied dismissively as she handed over the file Rachel had requested.

The door to the examination rooms opened and Shelby held it open for the boy who was carrying a medium sized terrarium.

"Remember, Spencer, only one mouse a week and buy a larger heating rock as soon as you can," Dr. Corcoran was saying. "Pendragon will be better in no time."

"Thanks." He nodded as Shelby got the front door for him.

Shelby was the reason Rachel had excelled so quickly—that and the fact that she was brilliant—and she was very grateful. Even though Rachel had worried that working along side the woman who had at one time been such a mystery to her might become awkward, things had turned out well. It was an unlikely story. She had been raised by her fathers and never knew anything about her mother; the Berrys had kept tightly sealed lips about the woman who had given Rachel to them. Looking back on it now, Rachel could see little clues that they never meant to let slip. Like the glances they would share between each other when Rachel would gravitate towards anything injured or their reaction when she announced she wanted to become a Veterinarian.

Hiram had lightly said, "Of course, we should have seen that coming."

At the time it hadn't seemed like it meant anything other than that they knew what a soft spot she had for animals, but now she realized it just as easily could have been referring to the fact that her mother was an animal doctor. Even when she selected the college she would go to, they cast sideways glances to themselves and LeRoy had seemed a bit nervous. After all, it was the same university that Shelby had been attending when she agreed to be their surrogate.

Then one day, as though fate had brought her to the moment, Dr. Shelby Corcoran held a lecture on the latest technologies in reptilian diagnosis and treatment and when the assembly was over, Rachel had signed up for a summer internship with her. It didn't take long for Shelby to recognize the name on her sign up sheet or to realize that the girl who had adhered a little gold star next to it was her daughter. The rest, as they so often say, was history, and now Rachel Berry was already a partner with her own specific set of clients and her name attached to the clinic.

"That's it for me tonight," Shelby said as she dropped her notes on the desk for Mrs. Schuester to type out and file. "I'm going to clean up, go home, and enjoy a nice glass of wine to start my weekend."

"See you on Monday, Shelby." Emma smiled. "Have a nice weekend."

"You too." She nodded. "Enjoy your weekend, Rachel."

"I will," Rachel replied. "Drive safe."

"Will do," Dr. Corcoran called over her shoulder as she headed back through the door.

"We're ready for Charlie now," Rachel announce as she held up the file.

A man in the waiting room sat up straight and tapped his companion on the shoulder; the woman was bent over their bright purple carrier, trying to sooth the cat inside. It clearly hated being caged in.

"That's us," he whispered in woman's ear.

"Alright, Charlie, here we go," the woman crooned, and her husband rolled his eyes ever so slightly.

Rachel held the door open for them as they passed.

"He's really sharp," Charlie's owner warned, showing her several nicks that were scattered along his hand.

"I'll give him a quick clip; that should help." Dr. Berry giggled as she followed them into the examination room.

* * *

Miss Fabray stared across the desk at Mr. Abrams and Miss Motta as she listened to them speak; Sugar clutched a little Yorkie close to her chest and Artie reached over to pat it gently on the head.

"So, it's not that I don't trust Artie totally, it's just that daddy insists that we get a prenup before we get married," the woman finished.

"I see," Quinn nodded with a small smile, "and is there any particular reason you have decided not to have this handled by Miss Jones?"

Mr. Abrams opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by his fiancé.

"Why would we go back to her after you mopped the floor with her last time?" Sugar squeaked indignantly. "If we're paying to have this done, we're going to have the best do it obviously. Besides, I never liked that woman's attitude anyway."

"We thought it would be best to conduct this business outside of Anderson & Sylvester," Artie explained more articulately. "Mercedes and Sugar tend to clash and this is such a minor formality that it didn't seem worth the struggle."

"I see," Quinn repeated, making a mental note that she would undoubtedly have a long voicemail to listen to when she got home that night. "Well, this should be a relatively short process. It seems you have most of the basics mapped out rather clearly already."

Hazel eyes scanned the papers they had handed over to her. "Yes, there are only a few loose ends we would need to tie up. Not many clients come in with such a clear understanding of how this process works."

"Daddy put it together for me," Sugar admitted. "Since he's the one demanding this silly little thing, I told him he could draw it up himself."

Her eyebrow cocked as she glanced back up at the couple sitting opposite her.

"It's understandable that he would feel the need to have a few precautions." She shrugged. "Businessmen are often very cautious when it comes to their profits, and of course fathers can be very protective of their daughters as well."

"Well, I think it's ridiculous!" the girl snapped. "As though Artie would ever—"

"It's fine, honey," her fiancé soothed, patting her hand lightly. "I'm not offended by it. It makes total sense for him to be a little mistrusting of me. After all, I have been married once before and I got most of the assets in that divorce; I can handle him not being one hundred percent behind us just yet."

Quinn detected a note of guilt in his voice and she wondered if it was regret at loosing his ex or simply remorse for not being more fare in the division of property. She shook her head and focused back on the files in front of her.

"You father has done a good job," she commented. "But there are a few loop holes here that I could fix to make it a bit more iron-clad."

"Do you have to?" Sugar asked. "I mean, once daddy realizes that Artie's not after my money, we'll probably end up just tearing it up anyway."

"Yes, she does have to," Mr. Abrams said sternly, locking eyes with Quinn before turning back to Miss Motta. "And we won't be tearing it up no matter how much your father decides to trust me in the future. I'm looking at this prenuptial agreement as proof that I love you for you, not for what you have, and that I'm not ever going to make the same mistake I made in my first marriage."

Miss Motta let out a high pitched "Awwww" and Quinn found herself blushing ever so slightly. She watched as Sugar leaned down and planted a kiss on her fiancé's cheek; her little lapdog protesting at being suddenly scrunched between her chest and his shoulder. Sugar giggled as she sat back up straight in her chair and Miss Fabray cleared her throat.

"Alright," she rasped. "I can have the document drawn up by Monday morning, but if you would like, I can leave a clause in there for you to void the agreement at some point in the future and, of course, it can be adjusted or added to at any time."

"Nothings going to change," Artie insisted. "So we should make an appointment for Monday then?"

"Yes," Quinn nodded, "our receptionist will take care of it for you before you leave."

"Thanks," Miss Motta chirped, standing up and extending her hand to Quinn.

She stood and shook her hand quickly and then walked around the desk to shake Mr. Abarms' hand as well before holding the door open for them.

"We will see you on Monday then," he said as he wheeled past her.

Quinn closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, fanning her face as she took in a deep breath. She crossed to the window and cracked it open to let in some fresh air.

_They might actually make it_, she thought to herself.

The blonde shook her head quickly; it was ridiculous—the odds of a couple staying together when the relationship had started off as cheating was miniscule as best.

_Once a cheater, always a cheater_, Quinn reminded herself. _You can't teach an old dog new tricks_.

The odds of a couple staying together at all seemed unlikely in this day and age, but Mr. Abrams had sounded certain when he declared that he was going to make this marriage work.

_Everyone thinks it's going to work when it starts off_, she mentally chastised herself. _It's not like anyone starts a relationship saying 'oh I hope this ends painfully and horribly'_.

Quinn still couldn't shake the feeling that it was possible; despite everything she saw on a daily basis, she had hope for them, and it definitely wasn't because she liked them. She could clearly see how Sugar and Mercedes did not get along; the girl had a double dose of diva and half a serving of brains, which wasn't a good combination, and the lawyer was pure swagger and confidence. Change of heart or no, Quinn didn't see herself warming up to Mr. Abrams either. Maybe if she had met him under different circumstances, she wouldn't have found him so repellant, but as it was, he was just a petty man who had lashed out at the woman he had already cut so deeply, and that kind of first impression doesn't ware off easily. Business was business, however, and the firm didn't look kindly on turning down clients over personal prejudices; it was her job and she was good at her job.

No, there was must have been something else that was making her believe that love had a chance in this world of red-tape and human error; some element influencing—or impeding—her logic. Maybe it was the fact that she had watched a romantic comedy the night before; she hated movies like that, but her friend, Rachel, had suggested it and insisted that she would love it. Quinn had been very irritated when near the, admittedly predictable, ending, she had found herself crying. It was nonsensical and embarrassing. The blonde had been glad that no one was there to see it happen, except for Romeo, and that she didn't need to defend herself to anyone.

_But I'm a Cheerleader_, she inwardly scoffed. _I still can't believe I made myself watch that._

Truth be told, the film had struck a nerve, the same way the movie she borrowed before that had. Though the first DVD she accepted from the brunette hadn't made her cry, it merely struck her as a very good representation of what being bisexual really was, which was rare. Too often she would hear people's opinion on the matter, stereotyping it as being either too afraid to just admit you are fully gay or just slutty enough to use it to get guys attention or seem 'edgy'. Quinn simply found herself attracted to people—not genders—but few of her peers on either side seemed to believe that. She cast a glance to her briefcase, where the brunette's copy of _Amelie_ was tucked safely under some files—the movie she would be watching on Saturday. The blonde rolled her eyes and wondered why she kept letting Rachel talk her into giving these movies a try.

Rachel—that must be it; her friend was every bit a firm believer in the power of love as Quinn was subscribed to the idea that if people can possibly ruin it, they will. It was a topic they had decided to agree to disagree on and the blonde steered the conversation away from it any time she could. Inevitably the brunette would bring it up, however, and Quinn would either agree sarcastically or list off a statistic in a joking tone. She couldn't help it, though; Rachel's naive insistence on the matter was strongly endearing—and apparently slightly infectious. The lawyer made a mental note that her friend was a bad influence on her, and another mental note that she didn't really care if she was.

* * *

Romeo careened down the hallway with his leash dangling in his jaws as Quinn entered the house. She slammed the door shut quickly behind her and laughed.

"Someone's excited!" she crooned as she sat down her briefcase and pressed the button on her answering machine. "You know, Roamy, even if we go to the park doesn't mean Maria will be there. It's not Sunday morning."

The blue tether clattered to the floor as he let out an excited howl at hearing the Westie's name and she laughed even louder.

"You're setting yourself up for disappointment, bud," Quinn chastised him as she patted his head.

The blonde hurried into her bedroom to change clothes, tossing her business heels aside unceremoniously and flinging her coat onto the bed as she reached back to unzip her dress. Quinn stood in the doorway to her walk in closet in only her short black slip and thigh-highs as she tried to decide which outfit to wear. The toes of her left foot wiggled as she traced it up and down along the calf of her right leg, trying to loosen her muscles up from the day in heels that had been too cute not to buy, but not the most suitable for all day wear.

Maybe Rachel would be at the park; they'd run into each other a few times on Friday evenings if she didn't have many appointments that day. Romeo was whimpering in the doorway, obviously anxious to get going, and Quinn giggled as she glanced at him over her shoulder. She pulled two outfits that would be appropriate for the job and spread them out on the bed, her hazel eyes flitting from one to the other as she propped her right leg up on the bed and began sliding the stocking down to her ankle and then gently off. The Golden Retriever let out a particularly pitiful whine and she rolled her eyes.

"I know, Romeo, I know." Quinn groaned. "I'm trying to hurry, sweetie, but I have to decide what to wear."

Something about this scenario seemed familiar, and as she slid the thigh-high over her left foot and laid the pair on her bedside table, it hit her. She hadn't fussed like this over what outfit to choose since—well, since she had been dating in college. The thought froze her in place and when her pet let out another miserable cry, she grabbed the closest set of active wear and turned around.

"Enough!" she snapped at Romeo. "Shush!"

He yelped and slinked out of the room into the hallway; Quinn instantly felt bad for scolding him, but her nerves were standing on end. She let the slip fall to the floor as she tugged the pale blue tank-top over her head and then struggled into her yoga pants with a matching blue print along the waistband. In a few seconds time, she had her socks and shoes on and retrieved the leash from the hallway floor; she walked quickly into the living room where the Golden Retriever was sulking behind a large potted plant in the corner.

"I'm sorry, Roamy," she called softly. "Let's go for that walk."

His ears perked up at the word 'walk' and he nearly knocked the large fern over as he bounded out from behind it; she snapped the leash into place and let them out the back door. Romeo strained at the end of the leash when they reached the turn for the park but didn't take it; he sat down and barked, probably thinking she had forgotten how to get to the dog-park. Quinn turned and patted the side of her leg, beckoning him to come, and he begrudgingly trudged forward with her.

"I don't have time for the park tonight," she said, though she had no idea why she would bother lying; it's not as though he knew what she was saying. "Maybe next time."

The blonde pulled out her phone when they had stopped so that Romeo could 'do his business' and typed out a quick text. With the phone zipped back into her jacket pocket, she tugged his leash lightly and broke into a jog with the retriever practically galloping along side her. Quinn had decided that when the walk was done, she would head to her favorite bar in search of some relief—and perhaps to wash away any lingering notions of emotion attachment.

* * *

"Sunshine," Rachel said cheerfully. "What are you doing here today? It's your day off."

The girl gave her a confused look and let out a little laugh. "I'm here to pick up Finn for date night, silly."

"But Finn's already having Dr. Beiste drop him off on the way back from her last appointment," she responded, her brows furrowing. "Didn't he call you or send you a text?"

"No," Mrs. Hudson said with a pout before shrugging. "Ah well, that's Finn for you; gotta love him."

"I assure you he didn't do it on purpose," Rachel tried to mediate. "Actually, he asked to go early so that he could get cleaned up for your date. Special plans tonight?"

With the smile that radiated from her face she definitely lived up to her name.

"Actually, yeah," Sunshine beamed, "we're setting up my friend who recently went through a divorce with one of his friends form his high-school football days. I really think they will hit it off, but even if they don't, it should be a fun evening."

"Sounds nice," Dr. Berry commented.

"You could always invite Miss Fabray to join us," the tech said with a slight wiggle of her eyebrows. "The more the merrier."

"They're just friends," Emma interjected playfully before Rachel could say anything.

"We _are_ just friends." Rachel huffed as the other two giggled at her. "You all are utterly impossible to deal with."

"We're only teasing you." Sunshine laughed as shouldered her purse once again, her keys jingling in her hand as she did so. "Well, I guess I should go home and get ready too. See you both on Monday."

Rachel's cell chimed in her pocket, and she waved the other girl away as she checked it and opened the text.

_**Sorry, won't be able to make it Sunday, just wanted to let you know. **_

She seemed to deflate as she read the message and the receptionist eyed her nervously.

"What's the matter? Some sort of emergency?" Emma said briskly.

"No." Rachel sighed, typing in a text of her own before stuffing the phone back into her pocket. "Quinn just had to cancel Romeo and Maria's play date. That's all."

"I see," the redhead chirped quickly as she turned back to the computer and began typing.

Mrs. Schuester's sympathetic glances from the screen to her didn't go unnoticed and Rachel felt the irritation building inside herself.

"What?" she said, more dramatically than she had intended. "I know you want to say something, so out with it."

Emma stammered as she replied. "I'm merely thinking that you seem a little overly upset by Miss Fabray canceling your plans is all."

"So?" Rachel defended. "I don't think you would handle a sudden change in your routine very well either. Remember when you took your honeymoon and you called every morning to make sure that the girl covering your shift remembered to sanitize all the pens and clip-boards? I seem to recall that you weren't exactly thrilled when you came back and realized she had rearranged your desk layout either."

"That's true," Emma said without any hint of embarrassment. "I admit that I have a few OCD habits that I haven't quiet shaken, but everyone knows that about me now. The point I'm making is that _you_ usually don't get upset by little changes like this."

"I'm not upset," Dr. Berry huffed again. "I was merely looking forward to it is all."

The redhead gave her another wide-eyed look and giggled; Rachel let out another sigh.

"What?" she snapped.

"Nothing really," Emma shook her head, "I was just remembering how, back when I worked at the school, I used to get upset whenever Will had to change our plans on me. We weren't even dating, but it used to throw off my entire day if a student kept him late and he didn't make it to the teacher's lounge at the usual time. It's silly to think of it now, but I would get jealous of other teachers he would call in to help with his projects, even though at the time I didn't have any kind of claim on him."

"I think I would have liked going to his high school," Rachel commented lightly. "Who knows what would happened if I'd gone to a school with a show choir. His students are very lucky that he's fought so hard for the arts."

"Yes," the redhead almost hummed the word, "I'm very proud of him. I always knew I was infatuated with him, but it wasn't until I quit working there and took this job and realized how much I missed him that I figured out it was love."

Rachel was keenly aware that her text still remained unanswered and that her hand still rested on the phone in her pocket; her subconscious walls were beginning to crumble as Emma smiled at her from behind the desk.

"I'm glad you two finally got together," she said softly. "I honestly can't imagine him with any other person in the whole world; it truly baffles me that he took so long figuring out his feelings for you."

"We were both pretty silly," her secretary said before glancing at the clock. "Oh my gosh, it's getting late; we should lock up, and I'm behind on my filing."

"Take the office laptop home with you," Rachel suggested. "I wouldn't feel right about you staying late on a Friday night."

"Thank you," Emma gushed as she began packing up the notes that were yet to be typed up. "You can go on ahead without me; Will should be here soon to pick me up."

Dr. Berry nodded and waved goodbye as she locked the door behind her and scurried to her car; Maria needed to be walked, but she didn't feel like going to the dog-park anymore. She decided a quick walk down a few blocks would be good enough exercise for the day.

* * *

Maria let out a little huff of a bark as her paws scampered against the sidewalk; the short walk that Rachel had planned on taking had turned into several hours of wandering and it was starting to get dark. Her talk with Emma Schuester had brought her suppressed attraction to Quinn careening back to life, and for better or worse, there would be no rebuilding that barrier. The brunette chewed at the corner of her mouth as she realized this could be the end of their friendship; she couldn't go back to being nothing more than a friend to the blonde and she knew how Quinn felt about relationships—she knew all too well about that. The Westie huffed again and then gave a little growl. Rachel shushed her gently; she hadn't noticed how late it had gotten.

_She must be terribly tired and irritated with me_, Rachel thought to herself as she took a turn that would lead them back home.

Maria let out another low little growl and the brunette looked down at her to hush her again; the dog's ears were perked and she kept checking back behind them. Rachel glanced over her shoulder and noticed a man walking behind them; he didn't look the most reputable, but that didn't mean he was menacing. Still, Maria rarely acted aggressively with people, and Rachel trusted her dog's instincts. She tested the Westie's theory by making a quick turn down a street and checking over her shoulder after a few seconds had passed. Sure enough, the rough looking man turned as well and even picked up the pace.

_Remain calm_, she instructed herself. _There is no need to be over dramatic_.

When she found another well lit street, she turned again, and to her dismay, so did the man; her steps quickened and so did his. He stopped when she stopped, and when she turned to confront him, the man peered into a shop window as though he were there by mere coincidence, but when she resumed walking, so did he, and her heart began to pound loudly in her chest.

* * *

Quinn accepted the drink the bartender had said was from a man on the other side of the bar; he wasn't her type by a long shot, but the martini was free. When he inevitably came over, she would turn him down, but for now, it was nice to have something to sip. She scanned the room, but no one was standing out to her and that frustrated her; every guy her hazel eyes landed on seemed wrong and every girl that caught her eye instantly reminded her of Rachel. Quinn could see the man who had bought her a drink preparing to make his move and she started getting ready to shoot him down.

"Well, if it isn't Quinn Fabray," a familiar voice sounded behind her. "I have a bone to pick with you, little miss thang."

The blonde spun around and found herself face to face with Miss Jones; she smirked and gestured to the empty barstool next to her. Mercedes hoped up onto the seat and loudly ordered a drink.

"What can I do for you Miss Jones?" Quinn asked.

"You can stop stealing my clients; that'd be a good start," Mercedes responded, but her voice wasn't as hostile as the words she was saying.

"I didn't steal anyone," she said lightly. "You lost them."

"If you say so, fine." Her competitor shrugged. "You might have taken some of my best clients, but I've still won more cases. Just remember that before you get all cocky."

"I'm not cocky," Quinn said coyly. "I'm just good at what I do."

"I won't argue there," Mercedes begrudgingly said. "It's a shame we aren't in the same firm because, girl, you and I would own the courtroom."

"That would be something to see," the blonde agreed. "Does that mean you're ready to jump ship? Hoping for a little inside info on if we're hiring?"

The other woman ran her fingers through her long, black hair and laughed. "You wish! Karofsy, Hummel, & Hart isn't my scene. Besides, it's looking good for me to make partner soon. My job will be opening up in no time; you might want to consider applying to Anderson & Sylvester. You'd have a much better boss—me."

Anytime they met outside of work, they seemed to end up in this kind of half-serious banter, and her hazel eyes twinkled.

"I think I'll stay where I am; if I keep bringing in new clients, they won't have a choice but to add my name to the title," she said before adding with a wink. "Maybe you could give some of yours my number."

"Don't even be playing with me about that." Mercedes laughed back.

"Did you enjoy your drink?" the man said, tapping Quinn on the shoulder lightly.

"It was good," she nodded without completely turning to address him, "but I don't think I would have another."

"Well, maybe I could order you a drink you'd like better," he said smoothly and she rolled her hazel eyes.

"She can order her own drinks," Mercedes chimed in loudly. "We're talking here. Do you mind?"

Quinn tossed her head back and laughed as the man retreated back to his side of the bar; her eyes were watering when she looked back at the other woman and she covered her mouth.

"I shouldn't laugh," she said, only feeling a little guilty.

"You could do better." Mercedes shrugged. "You weren't really interested were you?"

"No," the blonde answered.

"Guess if you were, then I still wouldn't have to feel too bad," the other woman mused. "What with you being my competition and all."

"Honey," a man said as he walked up to Mercedes. "Are you about ready to leave?"

"Don't even think about it!" the woman warned Quinn before she could tell the blonde man to get lost. "Yeah, boo, I'm almost ready."

"Alright, I'll go get the car," he said with an impossibly large smile.

"Boo?" Quinn said with her eyebrows raised.

"Well, you know; girl's gotta have her arm candy," Mercedes said with a wave of her hand.

The blonde spotted the sparkle of diamond on Miss Jones's hand and her mouth dropped open.

"What?" Mercedes asked.

"When did you get engaged?" Quinn sputtered.

"A month ago," the woman answered with another wave of her hand before holding it out in front of her to show off the ring. "Don't look so surprised; I'm a catch and I know it."

"It's not that," she assured her. "I just—how can you want to get married? We know better than anyone what the odds of that working out are."

"Those otha' fools don't have what Sam and I have," Mercedes replied dismissively.

"Everyone thinks that, but they don't know the statistics," Quinn pointed out.

Mercedes hopped down from the barstool as she paid her tab; she glanced down at her ring and then back up at the blonde.

"Statistics are just numbers, Quinn," she drawled. "They ain't people. People can _choose_ if they want to be a statistic or not—it's that simple."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "But why even risk it?"

"Can't fly if you're not willing to fall," Mercedes called over her shoulder as she headed for the door, leaving Quinn to sip her drink in silence.

The blonde pulled her phone back out; she knew that Rachel had replied to her hours ago, but she hadn't read it.

_**That's fine but Maria and I will certainly miss you both. Is everything alright? If anything changes let me know. Otherwise I'll see you next Sunday bright and early. :)**_

Quinn sighed and slipped the cell back into her purse before downing what was left of her drink quickly. Movement caught her eye from the other end of the bar and she glanced at a blonde, who was twirling a long strand of hair while staring, none-too-subtly, at her. There was no mistaking her intent as she slid from the barstool and made a bee-line for Quinn without breaking eye-contact, giving little thought to the people she bumped into as she passed. Hazel eyes instinctively shot back to her purse before rolling in exasperation at their own actions; she didn't need anyone's permission to be here; it was absurd, and the was exactly why she had come here in the first place. Wasn't it? She shook herself a little and blamed it on nerves. She was well overdue for this.

"I've been watching you," the other blonde said coyly as she slipped into place on the empty stool, letting her knee bump slightly against Quinn's as she did so.

"Really?" Quinn said nonchalantly. "I hadn't noticed."

The blonde's eyes widened and then narrowed; when she had crossed the bar, she had meant to be in charge, but Quinn knew exactly how to turn the tables on someone like her. The girl's knee drug along the length of her outer thigh as the hunter-turned-prey leaned in closer.

"But you notice me now, right?" the woman asked, her dark hazel eyes flashing again with determination. "You seem bored. Want to get out of here? I know somewhere a lot more exciting."

Quinn made a mental note that the color of the girl's eyes were all wrong—that there was no depth to them, no warmth, no chocolate. She turned to pay her tab and the girl scooted in closer.

"Let's get out of here," the woman with the wrong eyes purred in her ear. "My name's—"

Just like that, Quinn was on her feet, leaving the other blonde in the dust without even waiting for the bartender to bring her change. She had come to the bar ablaze with sexual energy, but the entire evening had left her cold and numb, and the unnamed woman's advances had hit her like a bucket of ice water instead of rekindling any desires. All the blonde knew was she had to go, now, right that moment and even as she chastised herself for giving in to irrational panic, she continued to force her way through the crowd and out the door.

_Why did I do that?_ Quinn wondered._ I have to stop thinking about Rachel. That's why I came here—to stop thinking about her. Why else would I have picked a dive like this where I wouldn't possibly_—

She was nearly knocked off her feet as someone crashed into her.

"Watch where you're going!" Quinn practically growled as she turned to see who had stumbled into her.

"Quinn?" Rachel gasped. "Oh thank god, Quinn!"

The brunette's arms were suddenly wrapped around the blonde and she could feel the leash twisting around their legs as Maria circled and yapped.

"Rachel?" Quinn stammered. "What are you—?"

"Someone's been following me," the girl whispered into her ear and her hazel eyes glanced up at the man who stood awkwardly on the sidewalk.

"Can I help you?" she said gruffly.

He certainly looked up to no good and he smirked a little as he shuffled and acted as though he hadn't heard her. Quinn quickly untangled herself from both Rachel and the leash and took a step forward.

"I said can I help you with something or should I call the police." She seethed as she glared at him.

The man visibly paled and took a few steps back. "Hey now, there's no need to call the fuzz. I wasn't doing anything illegal."

"Oh really?" She smirked. "What do you call stalking a woman down the street?"

"It ain't against the law to check out a totally smoking chick," he protested smoothly. "Speaking of, hi."

His eyebrows wiggled as he looked Quinn up and down before letting his eyes flick back to Rachel to do the same.

"Get out of here!" the blonde snapped, or roared, which sent him packing.

She turned around quickly; Rachel was shivering and Maria had erupted into a fit of barking. The Westie strutted back and forth as though she had been the one to dispatch the man.

"Are you alright?" Quinn all but whispered.

"I feel a little foolish," Rachel admitted shakily. "But one can never be too careful. I'm so glad that I ran into you or who knows what might have happened."

"I have a feeling he might have been telling the truth." The blonde shrugged.

Despite herself, Quinn instinctively shot a glare down the sidewalk in the direction the man had disappeared; she could buy it, that he was doing little more than enjoying the view, but for some reason that didn't make it all okay. She could feel Rachel trembling next to her and her hazel eyes flicked back to the brunette.

"Are you alright?" she repeated.

The blonde watched as an in-no-way-convincing-smile crossed Rachel's lips and she nodded far too quickly and for too long. Her eyebrow quirked and her friend's shoulders slumped.

"I know this makes me seem immensely overdramatic and possibly even pathetic," Rachel stated tensely. "But could you walk me home?"

"It does and I could." Quinn nodded, hooking her arm through Rachel's elbow. "Which way?"

_Those eyes_, she thought as she looked down at the brunette, who was staring sheepishly up at her in return.

"I, um, I think—" Rachel stuttered shyly.

"Yes?" the blonde asked in a light, drawn out hiss.

"I believe I have managed to get myself a little lost," the girl admitted. "Taking so many turns only determined by the best lit streets. I've never been here."

Quinn dug into her purse and retrieved her phone. "Address?" she asked; it actually shocked her that she didn't already know the address. She shook her head as she typed in the details her friend was giving her.

"You are a long way from home, Dr. Berry," she chided as she jerked her head in the direction they needed to go.

Rachel's grip tightened on her arm as they began walking and Quinn refused to let herself note the warmth it brought to her entire body; a pilot light somewhere in her body was sputtering back to life. As they continued down streets and around corners, Maria became increasingly chipper; the little white puff of fur advanced farther ahead of the pair and eventually strained at the end of her leash as the territory became more familiar. Soon, they were at the doors of the Fleet Street apartment building. As she gazed upward at all the windows, Quinn found herself somewhat underwhelmed; she couldn't imagine Rachel living in a place like this. It wasn't that the building was shabby—the architecture was a pleasant blend of new and classic and was well maintained—but for some reason it just seemed too small—too common.

"Want to come up?" Rachel's voice startled Quinn out of her thoughts.

"I'm sure you're tired from all the excitement today," the blonde squeezed through a tight throat. "And this little princess looks like she's had it for the day."

She was on her knees, but in front of the steps, ruffling Maria's soft coat; Rachel's laugh sounded like a series of bells as the Westie jumped into Quinn's arms and nuzzled into her loose hair.

"Then maybe you should carry her up." The brunette sighed. "I'm afraid I did drag poor little Maria on a wild journey today. I wouldn't be surprised if she is utterly distrusting of the leash for the next week. I'll probably have plenty of 'presents' left for me over the next few days. She can be rather passive aggressive."

"Well she get's it from her mommy," Quinn baby-talked addressing the dog as she stood back up.

"Excuse me?!" Rachel gasped.

"I'm only kidding," she assured the brunette, who was busy huffing as she unlocked the door.

Rachel shot her a dark glance over her shoulder as the door cracked open, and Quinn made a mental note that she should not follow the woman inside; gently, she shifted the Westie in her arms to hand the dog over. A little whimper sounded from the pup that suddenly became a wiggling tornado of protest and the blonde fumbled to keep Maria from tumbling to the Astroturf below.

"She wants nothing to do with me for now." Her friend chuckled. "I'm afraid you have no choice but to escort me to my flat or suffer the wrath of dog."

Quinn nodded mutely as she allowed Maria to nuzzle back into place and followed Rachel inside. The lobby was well decorated—modern furniture in bright summer colors, modern art splattering the walls, the mailboxes next to the front counter, and she could smell fresh coffee coming from a small café inside the building. The lady at the counter greeted Rachel cheerfully and made sounds of adoration in Maria's direction as they shuffled by. The leash was still around the brunette's wrist and Quinn felt very much lead to the elevator, powerless to turn and simply bolt home. Soon, they were in the hallway of the 10th floor and the blonde noted that there were only four doors on the entire floor. Directly off the elevator, Rachel turned to 1001 and jingled her keys as she began unlocking each lock, three in total, and the blonde could hear light shuffling inside.

_I didn't know she had a roommate_, Quinn thought. _Why wouldn't she tell me she had a roommate?_

There was the faint sound of barking coming from inside as well.

_She has another dog?_ The blonde puzzled._ Or her roommate has a dog._

The door was finally fully unlocked and Rachel cracked it open with her leg filling the gap, presumably to prevent another pet's escape. "I'm home, I'm home," she called cheerfully.

"I should—" Quinn mumbled as she began lowering the Westie to the floor.

A sudden flurry of activity sounded inside the apartment, followed by a crashing sound and a loud crackle of laughter from the darkened room beyond the door. She glanced up to see a set of warm brown eyes mid-roll as her friend laughed shortly.

"Come inside for coffee," Rachel insisted. "It's the least I can do after dragging you over hell and creation all night."

Before Quinn could protest, her friend had pushed the door all the way open and was waving her in as she stepped inside to flick on the light. The blonde jumped up quickly and followed along after her before the leash had a chance to be pulled taunt, and her heels clicked against the hard wood floor of the apartment. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Maria was squirming, impatient to be released, and Quinn unhooked the clasp and allowed the Westie to hop to the ground. Tiny nails clattered against the smooth surface and the tapping changed as she scampered into the kitchen; familiar sounds of tags against bowl and noisy eating echoed through the empty apartment.

_Empty?_ she thought as she glanced around in search of the roommate.

The door opened directly into a very large living room and along the left wall led to a bathroom; she could see a night light plugged in over the sink. To the right of that was another door, presumably a bedroom, and back up the hall on the same wall was the door to the kitchen. A few quick scans later showed no other doors or rooms.

"How do you take your coffee?" Rachel called, her head dangling out over the bar that opened into the living area. "Quinn, come inside; take your coat of and have a seat."

"Okay," she answered back, more question in her voice than she meant there to be.

Sounds of ruckus and crashing came from the bedroom and she noticed the door swayed slightly on its hinges, but the light didn't come on. Her eyebrow quirked again as a guilty feeling began to settle in her stomach. Someone in the bedroom didn't want her here, someone Rachel had never mentioned, someone the brunette didn't even seem to mind upsetting, and what was worse—Quinn didn't seem to mind it either. Her cheeks felt warm as strange sparks began to tickle her skin from the inside; she was excited, perhaps still a little tipsy from the bar and no dinner, and she was nervous.

"Quinn," Rachel giggled from inside the kitchen, "I know you're still standing there. Come on, the coffee will be ready soon."

"Come on, Dover, move yer bloomin' arse!" a voice sounded from the living room, and the blonde nearly jumped out of her quickly warming skin.

"Eliza!" the brunette's voice sounded both amused and admonishing. "No, no! That's no way to talk to guests! I'm sorry Quinn, she doesn't know what it means."

"I'm a good girl, I am!" the cockney voice chimed again, and the blonde's head snapped to the corner of the living room where it had sounded from.

An African Grey Parrot sat perched inside a large cage in the corner and was studying Quinn; once she made eye contact, the bird flapped its wings, exposing bright red feathers, before puffing up and letting out several chirps and surprisingly human sounding how-do-you-do's. Her hazel eyes flicked around the room again; under the flat screen TV mounted on the wall was a large aquarium filled with several brightly colored fish. A couch divided the expansive living space, facing the TV, and just behind it was a cage that had loud chirping noises coming from it. As Quinn slowly stepped forward and draped her coat on the beige, suede couch she peered down at two Guinea Pigs.

"Don't mind her," Rachel spoke from the kitchen. "The woman I adopted her from was absolutely obsessed with My Fair Lady and as a result, so is Eliza."

"You're a regular Dr. Doolittle aren't you?" Quinn blurted out with a laugh.

"Don't you call me 'Miss Doolittle', do ya hear? Eliza's good enough for me," the bird protested and both women erupted with laughter.

"Well, I can't very well turn them away," Rachel defended from the other room. "It just so happens that occasionally my clients will decide that they are not well suited for the pet they have chosen and I can't simply let them go to some shelter. Especially ones like Eliza, Hermione, and Smore. Dogs and cats are one thing; I volunteer at the shelter and they are always in demand. What little boy doesn't want a shaggy best friend? Dozens of girls come in daily looking for a kitten of their very own. Once I explain to their parents that the older animals are already trained and child friendly, they have a home in no time, but the more exotic animals are much too intimidating to your average pet-shopper or are simply not child appropriate."

"So you take them all in to your house and heart?" Quinn said, her voice more wistful than chastising, and she felt a fresh wave a pink tinge her cheeks.

"Well, I do turn _some_ of the animals away," the brunette admitted. "But you can hardly fault me for it. After all, it is much too small of an apartment to risk a snake or some other revolting lizard slipping free. I'd have to move! And the spiders! You would not believe how many parents let their children have pet spiders! Why would anyone even want a spider? Can you guess how many times the people at the shelter have had to explain that we do not house arachnids? How do you like your coffee?"

"Black," Quinn managed as Rachel batted her eyes at her from across the bar; she seemed disappointed.

Moments later, they were both sitting in silence as they sipped their drinks; Quinn's ears were trained on the bedroom, listening for more proof of the illusive roommate, but no sound came. After the bird had continued to chatter and quote the movie, Rachel had finally, and apologetically, thrown in a DVD of My Fair Lady and promised that it would keep Eliza quiet.

"I know musicals are not your favorite." The brunette sighed again, giving her a sorry look.

"It's actually not so bad." Quinn shrugged.

"How did you like Amelie?" her friend asked, her eyes boring into Quinn's intensely.

"I haven't had a chance to watch it yet," she admitted, her mouth feeling pointedly dry despite the beverage in her hand.

"Don't move!" Rachel whispered, her eyes suddenly growing large as she peered over Quinn's shoulder.

Her own hazel eyes felt as though they doubled in size as the brunette leaned forward, her arm snaking past her shoulder over the couch; the smell of coffee was mingling with the sent of Rachel's skin as she drew impossibly close, her lips only inches away from Quinn's ear. She made a mental note of how wrong it was that her heart began to thump in double-time and that every nerve in her body seemed to be reaching out, willing her to close the distance between them. The blonde opened her mouth to protest, but her voice wasn't willing to play any part in putting a stop to this; a soft puff of breath wheezed out that she fully intended to be _I need to be going now_.

"It's alright, sweetie," Rachel was crooning. "Nothing to be scared of."

Quinn's breath hitched and she wanted—but didn't want—to push the girl back and away from her.

_I don't believe in love and I don't want to ruin this friendship. She smells so good_, she inwardly wrestled, _but I won't, I won't, I won't be part of this. Who's in the bedroom? It can't be just a roommate because they would have their own room. Why don't I know more about Rachel? She's not the kind of girl who would cheat; at least, I didn't think she was. She's so warm. _

Quinn had decided that she had to go and she felt guilty because no matter how much she told herself it was because there was obviously someone else involved, the truth was it was more because she hadn't felt this excited in years. One night stands were one thing, and while they were fun and served their purpose, they never felt like this. Quinn was meticulous about her selections; she knew all the tricks people used when they were cheating and she knew she had never been party to it, but this didn't fit the pattern. What also didn't fit the pattern, was the rhythm her heart was beating out, the full on fire burning on her face and down her neck, and the quivering feeling starting in her stomach and racing down between her hips. This wasn't lust, it was longing, and she hadn't experienced it since college—before she learned better.

"Easy," the brunette whispered softly. "Now don't freak out; nothing to be scared of."

There was something to be scared of and Quinn had decided it was time to go—it was well past time to go. Suddenly, Rachel leaned back and something impossibly soft brushed the side of the blonde's cheek as she withdrew; her heart stopped, fluttered, and then resumed its pace loudly.

"He's very jittery when he meets new people," Rachel said quietly. "Honestly, I am surprised he ventured out at all. It's quite the complement, Quinn."

Her mouth was gaping open as hazel eyes locked with the icy blue orbs of the cat cradled in Rachel's arms. Its hair was blotched white, orange, and black and the fur around the blue eyes stuck out in grey tufts. Its bushy tail lashed back and forth as he stared her down.

"I found Sweeney at the shelter," Rachel explained. "He wasn't fully grown but, he was so badly injured and malnourished they were seriously considering putting him down. I couldn't let that happen, of course; male calicos are so rare, and just look at those eyes! So I adopted him; unfortunately he had to spend his first month with me at the clinic and he's still very skittish."

"He looks very healthy," Quinn managed to squeak out. "And angry."

"I have done a wonderful job with him, if I do say so myself." The brunette giggled. "And he always looks angry. As I said, I am surprised that he came out of the bedroom at all, so that makes you special."

"Sweeney?" she asked, desperate to be on a common topic—anything to slow down her heart while she inwardly berated herself.

"The demon kitty of Fleet Street," Rachel said jokingly.

Sweeney mewed in irritation and wiggled free, landing soundlessly on the floor before glaring up at Quinn. She stiffened as the cat continued to stare and then rub lightly against her leg.

"Oh, he does like you." Her friend giggled. "He won't even look at either of my dads and they have the claw marks to prove that he's never warmed up to them."

Quinn watched as the cat made a few more passes along the bare length of her calves before slowly meandering back down the hall and into the kitchen. When she chanced a glance back up Rachel was eyeing her closely and she felt her face going a deeper shade of pink.

"Are you alright?" the brunette asked.

"Yeah," Quinn nodded, "yeah."

Rachel didn't look convinced. She did, however, look smoldering; her brown eyes slightly darker than the blonde remembered them being, the corner of her lower lip tucked slightly in, her head inclined minimally—just enough to cause her neck to appear appealingly long under her loose, dark hair.

"You're a straight forward woman, Quinn," her friend said, her voice carrying an almost undetectable rasp. "We've always been honest with each other and I can tell something is bothering you. You seem uncomfortable. Did I so something wrong?"

_You did something right, something incredibly right_, Quinn thought but instead answered, "No, you didn't do anything wrong, Rachel. I just got the wrong idea for a second, that's all."

"Oh?" Rachel hummed.

Quinn ran her fingers nervously through the soft waves of her hair and let out a sigh; the girl's eyes were fixed on her and she couldn't think of a way out of explaining further.

"I thought someone was in the bedroom," she admitted. "Besides a cat, I mean, and then I thought, well I thought you were coming on to me, a little. Just a little."

She was prepared for Rachel to laugh in her face, completely ready to be laughed out of the apartment, but the brunette only nibbled the edge of her lip without a word. Perhaps this was worse. Had she insulted Rachel?

"It's not that I thought you would," she quickly began backpedalling. "I mean I know you, I know you're not dating anyone; I just somehow forgot that for a second, and I know if you were dating someone, you never would have come on to me, but I forgot that for a second too."

She gasped and started over. "What I mean is. I know you weren't coming on to me and I know you're not the kind of person to do something like that, but it's been a very strange day for me and I don't know where my mind was, but—"

"I was," Rachel interrupted. "Coming on to you, I mean."

"Wha-what?" she stammered.

All the blood in her body seemed to rush to her ears before plummeting back to her center and she sucked in a deep breath.

"I—" the brunette rasped. "I wasn't lost and my phone does have GPS as well."

Quinn was having trouble hearing the other woman over the sound of her heart in her throat.

"Do you," Rachel paused, "object to me coming on to you?"

The blonde's lips found Rachel's before she had a chance to think, her body closing the gap between them on the couch. She felt the brunette sigh into her mouth and tasted her breath, sweet and dark from the coffee they had been drinking, and the girl's hand rested on her arm just below the elbow.

"I've been wanting to do that," Rachel whispered, her lips still grazing against Quinn's mouth. "I don't even know how long I've been wanting to do that."

Her lips were pressed roughly against Quinn's again and she eagerly accepted Rachel's tongue as it slid past her parted lips and grazed her own. The blonde was aware that she was wet; she wondered how long she had been as she pressed her body closer to Rachel's, easing her down on the couch. Somewhere underneath the crackling flames under her skin, warning bells were sounding; she straddled the brunette, the skirt of her dress hiking up and slithering along her thigh, and she paused, lifting her head up and away from Rachel's as she froze.

"Quinn?" The girl panted beneath her. "Are you alright?"

_I can do this, it doesn't have to mean anything_, Quinn reasoned. It was a lie one half of her told the other so her body would have permission to act upon its quickly growing desire. _I can keep emotions out of it; we both just want to have fun_. And because of that desire, she swallowed the lie whole along with the taste of Rachel's kiss.

Quinn raised her head again as she brushed back a few strands of dark hair before crashing back down to suck at the base of Rachel's neck. The woman writhed underneath her and her hip twisted slightly, slipping into place between Quinn's thighs, and she moaned against the beat of the brunette's heart. Rachel was tugging at the fabric that was rolled up over the blonde's hips; her nails grazed bare skin and Quinn bit down harder on the pulse point as another moan ripped through her before shooting back up and yanking the dress over her head without a care as to where it landed. Hazel eyes fell on tan fingers as they stumbled over the buttons of her blouse. _I can afford to replace that_, she thought as she brushed Rachel's hands away and tugged on the silk until the buttons whizzed off in several directions. She slid her hands softly over the fabric of the matching camisole; Rachel's nipples were at attention under the simi-sheer material and it wasn't long before her fingers glided down the length of the garment and then back up under it. The brunette's body was impossibly warm and she arched up into the caress with a loud, appreciative moan. Tan arms were snaking their way up to Quinn's shoulders and slipping the straps of her black lace bra down before traveling up to cup the blonde's neck and drag her down. Their lips met again as Rachel shimmied the bra down to expose Quinn's breasts. The brunette's palms grazed over them before pressing lightly as she shifted to lift herself up; the movement drug her hip tantalizingly against Quinn's center and she, in turn, gripped Rachel's breast harder as she allowed herself another grind against the girls side.

Quinn's breathing became jagged and primal as Rachel caught her nipple between her teeth lightly; she released the other woman's breast and dug her fingers into long, brunette hair as she held her closer. Rachel's nails pressed into her hips as she slid one leg free and wrapped herself around Quinn's thigh. The room was filled with sounds that Quinn couldn't hear—the movie playing over the speakers, the squeal of the animals in the cage behind the couch, the drone of the aquarium, and the clatter of paws against hard wood. Nothing reached past the sound of Rachel's panting and her own heartbeat. The brunette squirmed against her thigh, just above the knee, and her cries of pleasure drowned out even the bickering inside her own head.

"Fuck," Quinn heaved as she simultaneously pressed herself along Rachel's leg and her knee harder against the apex of the woman's legs. "Oh, god, Rachel."

The brunette returned her curse with broken moans as she moved her hands from Quinn's hips and around to her butt, directing her movements back and forth as she tore at the material of the blonde's panties. She made a mental note that it was completely unfair how much clothing Rachel still had on in comparison and dropped her hands to the waistline of the woman's slacks.

"Fucking, pants," Quinn hissed through her gasps and jerked them down and over the girl's hips, taking her underwear long with them.

Rachel kicked lightly as she laid back and the motion grinded her knee firmly past the blonde's clit, causing Quinn to forget how pants worked for a second as she gripped the brunette's inner thigh and let out yet another cy of delight.

"That's good enough," Rachel husked when the slacks and panties rested at her knees; her hands were fixed to the lace of Quinn's panties as she used them to pull the girl back on top of her. "They're off."

Their breasts were pressed together as the blonde landed on top of the now naked woman and their mouths parted for another kiss as Quinn shimmied free of her underwear. Her eyes fell on Rachel's flushed face and her breath caught in her throat; her entire body felt too tightly coiled for air. The look in those dark eyes added an element of fear to her arousal because she knew it mirrored what her own hazel orbs were emitting. Quinn was lost somewhere in those dark pools as Rachel inclined upward to catch her lips again, softer than their other kisses, before ghosting new kisses along the length of her neck and finding the pulse point. A soft, tan hand slid from around her neck and down her arm, to the elbow, before brushing onto her back and then down to the small of it. Fingers danced just above her hip while Rachel adjusted herself, bringing Quinn down between her legs with softer panting than the animalistic moans they had both been allowing to escape.

"Oh, Quinn," the brunette breathed, barely above a whisper.

Now Rachel's hand was gliding along her bottom and circling her hip towards the blonde's center. Quinn was pulsing; her inner thigh quivered and ached from the torturously slow creep of Rachel's fingers. Rachel was crooning unintelligible words into Quinn's ear and the blonde ducked, sliding down along the brunette's body, trying to bring back the fire from moments ago as she licked and sucked her way down to the woman's stomach. Everything had become so gentle—too gentle. Quinn perched her core just below Rachel's knee, safely out of reach of the veterinarian's tender caresses, before glancing up to meet her eyes. The brunette seemed frozen in time, hunger reading in her eyes, as Quinn drug her eyes back down the length of her body and recalled the feeling of ever inch of skin before staring unashamedly at her exposed womanhood. It didn't take much teasing to have Rachel yelping with pleasure; the girl seemed ready to pop from the beginning and Quinn felt nearly there herself. When the brunette shuddered and her body clenched tight, her hands were on the blonde's shoulders, bared down, as though expecting her to bolt for the door.

In seconds, the brunette had Quinn's back braced against the arm of the couch and she could feel her hazel eyes rolling back into her skull as her head lulled back against the furniture. The woman fingers were already buried deep inside her and something was bursting inside the blonde's mind. Something in time to the flashes of every nerve ending, something that tore a little looser with every jagged breath and each guttural moan—something that fluttered in Quinn's chest like a startled bird in a gilded cage. Every flutter of its tiny wings was a betrayal by her body against the deal that had been previously struck with her brain, but she couldn't stop it—didn't want to stop.

"Don't stop," Quinn choked as she wasted the hard to take breaths on words.

"I won't," Rachel promised.

It wasn't until her breathing had slowed and the last waves of ecstasy had settled that Quinn realized she was crying. Rachel's face made it clear that she had been for some time—a mixture of worry and panic.

"Did I do something wrong?" the girl choked out. "Did I hurt you, or, or?"

Quinn yanked her panties back up. "No, you didn't hurt me."

"But something is wrong," Rachel insisted. "Quinn, what's?"

She didn't answer; the blonde was far too busy finding her dress, which had somehow managed to become tangled in the bars of the Guinea Pig cage. As she struggled back into it, she noticed several holes that had been chewed in it.

"Quinn," Rachel pleaded. "What's wrong? Talk to me! Whatever it is we can work on it."

_We!_ Her mind buzzed. _There can't be a we! This was a mistake._

"I'm sorry," Quinn mumbled as she snatched up her coat. "Sorry."

* * *

The door slammed and Rachel stared without blinking at the spot where Quinn had disappeared. She didn't even move to adjust the camisole that was bunched up around her neck as she braced her front against the back of the couch.

_That's it_, the brunette thought._ I've ruined it. Why did I have to move so fast? I should have stopped her, given her time to think, but I couldn't even think myself_.

Tears were welling up in her warm brown eyes; the room still seemed to be echoing from the sound of the door slamming and her friend was gone—forever. Rachel was sure she would never see Quinn again, not after what had just happened.

_Maybe if I tell her it didn't mean anything_, she reasoned desperately. _I could text her and say I'd like to simply be friends with benefits_.

She knew that wouldn't work, not in the long run, because her feelings for the blonde ran too deep. They had snuck up on her so quickly and she knew that every moment they spent together would mean something to her, even if it didn't mean anything to Quinn. Rachel knew she was not the kind of girl who could handle that.

Maria positioned herself at the door and whimpered; Rachel almost felt inclined to do the same. Instead, she stood shakily and pulled her slacks and underwear back up and adjusted her shirt before busying herself with the coffee cups. Her eyes avoided the couch as she reentered the living room; her foot skidded slightly and her brow furrowed as she bent down to pick up one of the buttons from her silk shirt. Maria was pawing the door frame as though she wanted to go outside and Rachel let out a painful sob as she tossed the button onto the coffee table.

"Rach," Quinn's voice sounded suddenly behind her.

She hadn't heard the door open again over the sounds of her own crying and she jumped instantly.

"Did—" she tried to mask the pain as best she could when she spoke, "did you leave something? I'll help you find it."

Quinn had her roughly by the jaw the moment she turned around and the blonde's lips crashed into hers violently. Rachel was pinned in the other girl's stronger-than-they-seemed arms and she couldn't breath.

"Yes," Quinn said between passionate kisses. "I. Think. I. Left my. Heart. In. Here somewhere."

* * *

**Fun fact (well, fun to me) most of the pet's in this story belong to people I know, in fact my cat is named Charlie. There are some "celebrity" cat's in there too. You know the drill - tumblr or wordpress to vote on the May's plot. Leave a review if you have the time to do so please.  
**


	4. Chalk

**Fourth Installment. It's Rachel's first year teaching. When one of her students, Beth, begins to act out in class, Miss Berry decides to join forces with Miss Fabray to discover the cause for the sudden behavior. Meeting Quinn, however, is about to teach Rachel something she never knew about herself and they will both have to learn as they go. **

**Professions – Chalk – Teacher/Waitress**

**All your reviews have been wonderful. Hopefully this installment lives up to your expectations. I think it is helpful for me to note that while I am working on competent smut writing, I'm also trying to experiment with other aspects/ways/conditions of love. I mean, if I were to write the same story every month you'd be bored and I would be too - it would drive me insane. More insane? Either way, enjoy. Also feel free to give Invisimeg big sloppy virtual kisses for getting it betaread in time for me to post without having to wake up early.  
**

* * *

**Chalk**

* * *

Rachel Berry cleared the dry erase board as she glanced that the clock for the millionth time since school let out. Miss Fabray was very late for their meeting and she was beginning to worry. The second grade teacher turned to study the scene unfolding at the back of her classroom; Brittany, her assistant teacher, was animatedly entertaining Beth Fabray, her student, by sticking pencils under her lips.

"I'm a walrus!" Brittany announced excitedly. "I use my whiskers to find food at the bottom of the ocean floor; my name literally translates to 'tooth-walking sea-horse' and I can live up to as long as 30 years."

The girl giggled and clapped her hands. "Another" she demanded.

Once again, Rachel checked the clock; the girl's mother was nearly half an hour late and she was starting to wonder if she would arrive at all. The brunette stifled a laugh as her assistant popped up on her knees and began teaching random facts about the meerkat. When she had first taken the job, the other teachers had laughed when selected Brittany to be her teachers-aid, but the girl had a way with children that couldn't be taught and was smarter than she seemed.

"Mommy!" Beth squealed when a blonde woman burst through the door looking frazzled.

"Hello, sweetie," she gushed as she hugged her daughter and looked up at Rachel apologetically. "I'm sorry I'm late; my shift at the dinner ran late."

"Not at all." Rachel nodded as she pulled the chair out from her desk and motioned for the woman to take a seat. "I'm sorry I had to request this meeting on such short notice, Miss Fabray, but I feel it's important to address these things before they are allowed to get out of hand."

"I understand," Miss Fabray sighed, holding her hand out. "You can call me Quinn."

"Brittany, why don't you take Beth out to the playground for a few minutes?" Rachel suggested after the handshake was done and Quinn had taken a seat.

"Sure thing!" the aid bubbled as she took Beth's hand and lead her outside.

"Mommy will be out soon, sweetie," Quinn called after her.

When the door closed the blonde turned her head back quickly to face the teacher; her eyes looked tired and her hair was tussled from a long day of running around and Rachel instantly felt guilty for insisting on this meeting.

"So what seems to be the problem?" she asked dryly, already acting defensive.

"As I'm sure you know," Rachel began, "Beth is an amazingly bright little girl. She's one of my favorite students, and I'm not saying that lightly, and I've noticed a change in her behavior lately."

"Look, I know Belleville is a good private school, or it better be for all the money I'm paying for it," Quinn responded. "But if you're calling me in because of her grades, I think that's a bit extreme. I mean, it's the second grade, and if she's struggling with a subject you could have sent home a letter and I would work on it with her."

"Her grades are perfectly fine, Miss Fabray," the teacher assured her. "More than fine, really; this is a behavioral issue."

The woman's hazel eyes squinted up and Rachel couldn't help but feel slightly intimidated.

"What behavioral issues?" the blonde asked.

"Well, Beth has been more quiet and withdrawn in class," Rachel said cautiously. "And she had been surly with some of the other students, which isn't like her at all. It's border lining on bullying."

"Kids go through phases," Quinn responded.

"Yes, but sometimes there is an underlying cause, so I just wanted to bring it to your attention and see if we could shed some light on what is causing this sudden change in behavior," the brunette explained. "Has anything changed in her home life?"

"So, you call me in to find out if I'm a bad mother?" the blonde spat. "Listen, Miss Berry, I did research before I chose to put her in a private elementary instead of the public school system and I know you're fresh out of college, so don't act like you're an expert and assume that you know something about me. If you want to be super teacher, that's great, I'm all for bad parent's getting caught, but I'm not going to sit here and be accused of-of—"

"That's not what I'm saying at all, Miss Fabray," Rachel rattled off quickly. "Quinn, I'm absolutely not implying that you are in any way a poor parent. It's obvious that Beth is well taken care of and nurtured. Aren't you at least curious as to what might be upsetting her?"

Quinn let out a heavy sigh and ran her fingers through her hair. Miss Berry held her breath while she let the other woman calm down.

"You're right, I'm sorry." She sighed. "You just don't know what it's like as a single mother. Everyone's always assuming I must be doing something wrong, everyone has advice or criticism, and I'm just a bit defensive—and tired."

"I understand." Rachel nodded. "Perhaps we should schedule another meeting for a time that is more convenient for you."

"No, no," Quinn shook her head, "I'm already here."

"Very well," the teacher shrugged, "can you think of anything that might have Beth upset?"

"When did this start?" Beth's mother asked.

"Just this week," the brunette answered. "Last Friday she was happy and playing and volunteering to answer every question, and then Monday she didn't want to do anything or play with anyone. I waited until now because I thought maybe it was just a bad day or perhaps she was sick, but it's been a whole week now."

The blonde covered her face in her hands and groaned. "I think I know."

Rachel waited while Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. She looked so stressed, so tired, and yet, despite all that, she still looked gorgeous. While Miss Berry gave her a moment to compose herself, she found her mind wandering. Single mother—how could this woman have any trouble finding a suitable boyfriend? Where was Beth's father? The blonde did look young compared to the other parents she had dealt with so far. What made this woman so tired? Rachel remembered that she said her shift at the dinner ran late; she must be a waitress. The brunette had never worked in a café, but she imagined it must be exhausting being on your feet all day, remembering people's picky orders, hot kitchens, cramped eating areas, and pushy customers. Miss Fabray deserved better than that; she seemed like she was capable of so much more. She was obviously smart and determined.

"Ok," Quinn spoke, jarring Rachel out of her thoughts. "Ok, I think I know what has Beth upset. You see—her father involved her in a proposal to me over the weekend and I turned it down. I thought I had explained it to Beth properly—she seemed to understand, she seemed ok with it—but I guess she must have really wanted it. Puck probably talked about it like it was a sure thing and got her excited; knowing him he made all kinds of promises that he couldn't keep even if I had said yes."

Miss Fabray was rubbing her temples and Rachel nodded solemnly.

"I believe you are right." She sighed.

"So what do I do?" the blonde asked.

"I—" Rachel stammered. "I don't know, exactly. This is a very sensitive subject; Beth may be too young to understand the reasons behind it. Perhaps if her father were to explain that it is alright, that you both love her even if you aren't together, that may help. Maybe spending a little extra time doing bonding things with you and him separately would help as well to reinforce the idea that everything is alright."

"Puck has that covered," Quinn said bitterly. "I mean, he's a good dad—I really mean that—and if I tell him this is upsetting her, he'll tell her it's ok. I don't know what he was thinking or if he was thinking at all. The problem is he gets the weekends, so he gets all the fun-time and I get all the parent-time. It makes things hard sometimes."

"I see," the brunette said nervously. "Well, maybe you can fit in a little scheduled fun-time during the week after work?"

"Oh, crap!" Quinn gasped as she checked her watch. "I'm late getting her to the daycare! I'm going to be late for work."

"I thought you just came from work," Rachel stated.

Hazel eyes rolled and the woman looked at her as though she were the dumbest person on the planet—and Rachel felt at though she was.

"Ah," she said timidly. "You have two jobs."

"Yeah well," the blonde shrugged as she stood back up, "what can you do? I'm just lucky I could find two jobs with flexible enough hours. I only do half-shifts at my part-time."

The teacher could only nod as she stood up as well and walked over to hold the door for Miss Fabray.

"Thank you for talking to me about this and not just assuming I'm a bad mom," Quinn said quickly. "I probably would have never known how upset Beth was about this if you hadn't called me in."

"That's my job," Rachel said brightly. "I'll try to think of other solutions if you'd like."

The woman stopped in the doorway and gave the brunette a grateful look. Something about the smile that struggled it way across Quinn's lips made Rachel feel very proud of herself.

"Thanks," Miss Fabray breathed. "You're amazing."

With that, the woman was out the door and dashing down the hall, her heels clicking against the tiles as she hurried off to collect her daughter. Rachel stared after her with curiosity; her brow furrowed as she contemplated Quinn's plight and how hard it must be to keep her life together. Beth was a wonderful little girl; obviously whatever her mother was doing was working, but it must be terribly difficult.

"I wish we had a real chalkboard," Brittany commented; her sudden appearance startled the teacher. "Then I could take the erasures out and bang them together and make clouds."

Rachel laughed and ran back in to collect her coat before locking the classroom door behind her.

"Would you like me to walk you to your car?" the girl offered.

"No thank you," the brunette declined.

"Because Santana always asks if you're one of my students?" Brittany asked. "She's only kidding, really, and I like how she gets all jealous when I walk out with you."

Miss Berry laughed and shook her head as she turned towards the teachers' lounge.

"No, really, I have a few things to take care of here before I go home anyway," she lied.

Her teachers-aid skipped away down the hall and out the front doors; Rachel waited a full ten minutes to exit the building and climb into her car.

* * *

She had no idea how, but somehow Quinn Fabray had managed to have an entire day off from both of her waitressing jobs. She had no idea why, but for some reason the blonde found herself handing over her hard earned cash to a baby-sitter and was now standing awkwardly at the back of a classroom for her first P.T.O meeting ever. Couples meandered around the room, looking at their children's artwork or gossiping, while Quinn stood alone, her mind still mulling over the topics they had just finished discussing. Some of the parent's concerns seemed so ridiculous and trivial.

_Our children need to dance and sing!_ She replayed an overly dramatic father's rant in her mind. _Belleville shouldn't merely exercise their minds; you should be uplifting their souls! If we don't instill them with the arts now, they will be doomed to a mediocre life in which their only goal will be to be captain of the football team or head cheerleader. What kind of message is that to send to our impressionable children? My little Emery deserves a creative outlet that sets him apart as special, and instead, he gets bullied by the bigger, stronger, kids on the playground. _

Quinn had found the whole rant idiotic, and not just because it condemned her previous head cheerleader status. In her opinion, if he didn't want his son being picked on, he never should have named him after something people sharpen their nails on. Maybe if his father spent more time tossing a baseball with him instead of forcing the poor child to study ballet, the other little boys would let him play with them.

_I wouldn't have been caught dead doing choir or theater in high school._ Quinn thought to herself. _What's wrong with cheerleaders anyway—freak._

Aside from that, this was the second grade; there were more important things for the kids to be learning than scales and sheet music. Quinn was amused by these over-achieving parents and felt sorry for their children who were doomed to be pushed constantly to be perfect—she hadn't liked it when she was little. The blonde remembered all too well what kind of rebellion the pressure to be perfect lead to.

"Excuse me," a woman greeted her brightly. "You must be Brittany, the assistant teacher. My daughter absolutely adores you. You're all she talks about the minute she comes home from school. I'm Mrs. Jones, Mercedes's mother, but all my friends call me Bev; it's short for Beverly."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not Brittany," she corrected. "I'm Quinn Fabray; I'm Beth's mom."

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry," Bev apologized. "All I know is she's blonde and she's very young."

There was something off about the woman's tone, but Quinn reasoned that she must have imagined it. She shook the woman's hand and smiled; Mercedes's mother looked down at her hand before releasing her from the handshake—Quinn told herself she was imaging that as well.

"That's perfectly alright," she replied. "Beth talks about Mercedes all the time; it's nice to meet you."

"Yes, I think I've heard my daughter mention Beth before." Beverly shrugged. "She's at home with her father; I can never get that man to join me at these things. How about Beth's father? Does he find these meetings dull as well?"

"I wouldn't know," Quinn answered tensely. "He might have come to one before, but I doubt it."

"Yes, well," Mrs. Jones said through a tight smile. "Oh, there's Miss Berry. If you'll excuse me, I have a few questions for her."

The woman brushed past her quickly, leaving the blonde feeling slightly degraded. Quinn reminded herself that this is what a good mother does; she attends P.T.O meetings, she smiles and nods and remembers the names of her child's classmates, and she makes nice with the other parents—and Quinn was a good mother.

"You're Beth's mom, right?" a lady asked cheerfully.

"Yeah." The blonde nodded, preparing for battle once again. "Quinn Fabray."

"Carole," the woman introduced herself warmly. "Hudson-Hummel. I haven't seen you here before."

"First time," Quinn said brightly, calling on her cheerleader enthusiasm to get through the night.

"My son, Finn, has the hugest crush on your little girl—I swear!" Carole laughed; she turned and waved at a man across the room. "Burt! This is Beth's mother; come over and meet her."

"Finn is Kurt's brother, right?" the blonde asked. "The twins?"

"Oh, no, they're not twins; they are step-brothers," Mrs. Hudson-Hummel corrected. "Finn is my son and Kurt is Burt's son. My first husband and Burt's first wife died when the boys were both very young, but I love Kurt as though he were my own and you would never know they aren't related—they're just like regular brothers."

"That's nice." Beth's mother nodded.

"I saw Beverly Jones talking to you and thought I'd introduce myself in case you needed some morale support," Carole said knowingly before whispering. "Don't mind her; some of these parents are a little holier-that-thou."

"Oh, no, she wasn't," Quinn faltered for a second. "Yeah."

"So, did you rescue her from Bev?" Burt asked as he joined them.

"She tried," the blonde assured him. "It wasn't so bad."

"She's just the tip of the iceberg," the man commented. "You know, I think some of these people still look down on us because we're not members of their country club. The one you really need to watch out for is Mrs. Motta; she's the one talking to Rachel right now. That woman is—"

"Stop scaring the girl, Burt," his wife interrupted. "What he means is you have to stand your ground with these people. If you let them walk on you, then they will. That's all. It's hard being a single parent; some people don't understand that not everyone's family fits together the same way theirs does."

Quinn nodded, unsure of how to handle her new allies, and smiled; the Hudson-Hummel's seemed nice. They were clearly more down the earth than most of the parents she saw in the room.

"Don't let any of them make you feel awkward," Burt added warmly.

Miss Fabray was beginning to wonder how long a perfect mother was expected to hang around at these things; no one else seemed in a hurry to leave. As the couple moved on, Quinn began exploring the bulletin boards that lined the walls of the classroom; each one was dedicated to two students and displayed their artwork, pictures of them playing, writing exercises, and a school photo with a wide white boarder. All of the photos had at least a few stickers lined along the white edges and the blonde assumed it was a type of reward system. Quinn smiled proudly when she saw that Beth had more pink sparkly hearts than Mercedes, who shared the display with her daughter and had purple cupcake stickers.

_Take that, Bev_, she thought to herself smugly as she turned her attention to the play-pictures. There was one of Beth adjusting her hat on top of Kurt's head, the little girl pushing a classmate on a swing on the playground, and one where her daughter's face was scrunched up in disgust as Finn planted a little-boy-smooch on her cheek. Quinn laughed at Beth's oddly familiar expression of disapproval, but she stopped abruptly as her eyes fell on a crayon doodle displayed on the board. There was a stick figure man labeled 'daddy' on one knee offering a well oversized ring to stick figure 'mommy' and a 'me' stick figure holding a crayon-scribble-jumble of flowers. Several heavy layers of crayon seemed to be scratching out letters above and below the artwork and Miss Fabray was left staring at the doodle, trying to figure it out.

"I had the children draw two pictures the other day," Miss Berry said from over Quinn's shoulder. "One of something that made them sad and one of something that made them happy. Then I asked them to label them. I thought it would be good for word association and also that it might help Beth articulate her feelings."

Quinn nodded; she felt oddly comforted by the teacher's sudden attention and she studied the stick figures one last time before turning her hazel eyes on the brunette. They seemed to be close to the same age and the blonde wondered what it would have been like to know her in high school. Would they have been friends? She had to admit to herself that it was unlikely; Quinn would have torn someone as kind as Rachel apart because she would have felt threatened. In turn, the girl would have turned on her when she became pregnant, just like everyone else had.

"When I asked her which one this picture was, she said she didn't know," Rachel said quietly, "and I told her that there was nothing wrong with that. I explained that sometimes the things that make us happy also make us a little sad too and even when things don't turn out the way we wanted, sometimes something better happens. She seemed to perk up."

Quinn smiled gratefully; it had been a long time since anyone had gone out of their way to help her with anything.

"I'm glad you came," the teacher continued. "I realize that you are very busy, but I was hoping you would manage to attend one of these meetings at least. I actually think I might have found a sort of solution you might be interested in."

"Miss Berry!" Emery's father yelled from across the room. "I need to speak with you urgently!"

The man was poised in front of his son's board; Quinn's competitive nature couldn't help but notice that Emery had very few yellow bunnies lining his photo.

"Please don't leave until I've had a chance to talk to you again, alright?" Rachel sighed as she dashed off to attend to the other parent.

Miss Fabray nodded mutely as she watched Miss Berry cross the room; a moment later, when she realized she was staring, she began inspecting the other boards along the wall again. Finn and Kurt shared a board and Quinn's inner score keeper noted that Kurt had more red shoes than his step-brother had green footballs, but not more stickers than Beth had. As she neared the door, she found a bulletin board with Miss Berry and Brittany's pictures posted, along with a detailed explanation of the sticker system, and she found herself smiling again. It seemed that once a week the teacher and aid allowed the students to grade them and award or subtract stickers. Brittany's picture was littered with teal cats and Rachel had a neat little row of gold stars.

Quinn studied the brunette's photo and contented herself to believe that had they met in school, she would have been smart enough to befriend Rachel. She knew it probably wasn't true, but she let herself believe it nonetheless. The blonde wondered what her life might have been like if she had allowed herself one real friend that she didn't treat badly.

"What's your secret?" a woman whispered in her ear, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up.

"Excuse me?" Quinn said shakily.

"You don't look a day over 20," the woman said breezily. "And I'm always looking for tips on how to stay perfect."

Quinn rolled her eyes and tried not to be annoyed by the other mother.

"Come on, you can tell me; I'll keep your secret," the lady offered. "I'm Candy Motta, by the way."

"I'm 24," she said briskly. "That's my secret so far."

"Oh," the all too familiar tone edged Mrs. Motta's voice. "There are so many new parents I haven't had a chance to meet."

"Quinn Fabray," the blonde offered stiffly.

"I don't remember seeing that name on the list of new parents on the newsletter," Candy commented.

Quinn inwardly groaned as realization dawned on the woman's face.

"Oh my gosh!" she squealed. "Lucy Fabray? My youngest sister went to middle school with you."

Instantly Mrs. Motta's phone was out and she was texting as she continued to speak. "Honey is never going to believe this; I told her your name was in the newsletter, but she said there was no way your baby was in the same school as Sugar."

_I'm a good mother_, Quinn reminded herself,_ good mothers don't slap bitches at P.T.O meetings. _

"She went to college with the girl that took over as head cheerleader. Lopez, I think. I have to get a picture with you." The woman was still chattering as she grabbed Quinn and held up her phone. "Say Lucy-Caboosey!"

Her face went limp as the light from the flash momentarily blinded her and she closed her eyes, willing herself to keep it together. Seconds later, the phone rang and Mrs. Motta answered it without bothering to excuse herself.

"Yes, Honey, yes." Candy cackled. "Lucy-Caboosey! Could you just die? I know!"

Beth's mother took the distraction as a chance to dash out the door and down the hall to the bathroom—because perfect mothers don't cry at P.T.O meetings.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Quinn dabbed at her face as she crouched over the sinks in the elementary school restroom; she felt like a weepy giant. She fidgeted with her makeup, trying to hide the embarrassing evidence of her breakdown, and tried to convince herself that she was ready to rejoin the group. With any luck, most of the parents would be gone by now.

"Quinn?" Rachel's voice echoed against the tiles as the door cracked open.

"I'm in here," she answered without thinking and the door swung open. "I just needed—"

Quinn's mind was blank; she hadn't intended to announce her presence, but the brunette's voice had been so comforting that she couldn't resist.

"It's ok," Miss Berry soothed. "Mrs. Motta has that effect on people. Truth be told, she had me hiding out in here several times before and I'm not ashamed to say so."

"Oh." The blonde's word hung in the air between them.

Without hesitation, the brunette was standing next to her, inspecting her makeup for her, and offering her a tissue to smooth the eyeliner that still looked a little runny.

"I have waterproof in my locker in the teachers' lounge if you want to use it," Rachel offered without a hint of superiority.

"Thanks anyway," Quinn responded as she shook her head. "I don't normally do this."

"You can't listen to what she says," her daughter's teacher stated confidently before adding in a whisper, "She drinks."

Quinn found herself waving her hands in front of her face as she laughed, trying not to let fresh tears damage her already patched cosmetics. It felt good for someone to have her back, no question's asked, for no ulterior reason. It felt good and strange at the same time.

"I'm glad I found you; I wasn't sure when would be the next time I'd see you," Rachel spoke again when the blonde had composed herself. "And I wanted to let you know as soon as possible. There is an opening in the school cafeteria that I think you would be well suited for. I don't know how much you make, and you don't have to say, and this might not pay as much as both of your jobs combined, but I believe you should consider it. Employees get a moderate discount on expenses and you would have more time with Beth. You would be here at school at the same time she is, which might save on daycare, and I have all the paperwork in my desk just in case you wanted to review it before making any decisions, of course. Personally I feel it is worth looking over—"

"I appreciated it," Quinn laughed, cutting the brunette off before she could turn blue, "I'll definitely look over it."

Rachel smiled broadly and it made Quinn feel warm; it was easy to smile back as she followed the teacher out of the restroom and back up the empty hallway. Brittany was straightening chairs as they entered the classroom and she waved happily before continuing the task. Beth's mother took in a deep breath as she contemplated how much bigger the room felt without all the other parent's crammed around her. Even the nice ones were still quite a bit older than her, and coming tonight had made her realize just how different she was from all of them.

"Everything you need is in the packet," Miss Berry chimed happily as she handed over a large envelope. "If you decide to apply, feel free to use me as a reference."

"Me too," Brittany added from the back of the room.

"Thank you," Miss Fabray said with a grin.

"It's nothing, really," Rachel assured her lightly.

Quinn held the envelope in her hands and felt more tears tickling the corner of her hazel eyes.

"It's not nothing to me," she said seriously. "And I really mean it. Thank you."

The brunette just smiled, as though she couldn't understand what the gesture meant to the other woman, and shrugged.

"I have a few copies in my desk if anything were to happen to that one," she said offhandedly. "If you do decide to fill out the application let me know and I shall hound them until they relent and realize you are the best possible choice."

"Thanks," Quinn said dumbly, unable to find words to express herself any further.

"We're almost done here." Rachel sighed. "I'll be locking up soon."

"Want me to walk you to your car?" Brittany called from the back of the room.

Miss Fabray noticed the way Miss Berry cringed and spoke quickly, "I'll walk you to your car."

"I would like that," the brunette answered.

* * *

Rachel hadn't been kidding; the job didn't pay as well as one of Quinn's best nights at both jobs, but the salary was more than one of her poor-tipping-days. Beth's mom carefully balanced the steady pay and the benefits that came with the job against what she already had and finally decided that it would be worth it. The P.T.O meeting had opened her eyes to a whole other world that Beth was experiencing that Quinn never saw. Sure, her daughter would talk endlessly about her day at school, but it wasn't the same as getting to see it in person. The chance to be closer to Beth was tempting and it was tempting to put herself in a position to be closer to Rachel as well—a friend and ally. The blonde couldn't remember a time when she felt so at ease with anyone; she'd never felt close to her best friends, as sad as that seemed to her now.

Rachel also hadn't been kidding about helping her get the job, either; Quinn had heard back from the school shockingly quick and now, a mere week after her phone call and interview, she was standing outside the door to the cafeteria waiting to start her first day. She was extremely nervous; she couldn't remember what she had thought of lunch ladies in her younger years, but she remembered that few people were pleasant to them in high school. The door swung open and a large woman popped her head out into the hall. Quinn's cheerleader self automatically scoffed at the apron-clad lady that filled the doorway and she inwardly chastised herself.

"You must be Lucy," the woman said warmly. "I'm Millie, Millie Rose; I'll be showing you around. Are you ready?"

"Quinn," she corrected, sounding more panicked than she meant to. "I mean, I prefer to go by Quinn."

Millie smiled and pulled a nametag off of the apron she was holding, "I'll make a new tag then, and I'll make sure the office knows to have the permanent one made with Quinn on it."

"I'm ready." Miss Fabray nodded and she followed the lunch lady into the kitchen.

"The job is pretty straight forward once you get the lay of the land," Mrs. Rose said over her shoulder. "In our downtime we clean up. I like to keep the kitchen ready for inspection at all times. It gets pretty hot in here when we are cooking and when the dishwasher is running, but there's a door back there that leads out back and if you feel overwhelmed you can take a few minutes. Just don't smoke."

Quinn followed close behind her as she stuffed her blonde locks into a hairnet and fumbled with the apron strings.

"I don't smoke," she assured Millie.

"I didn't think so." Her new co-worker smiled as she stopped in front of the large freezer.

She listened attentively as Mrs. Rose showed her around, pointing out first aid stations and fire extinguishers as they went. Quinn hadn't worked in the kitchens at her waitressing jobs, but she would mostly be running the line and helping with cleaning; food prep training would come later if she was interested, so mostly she needed to learn her way around the kitchen and dinning area. Some of the students had specific diets and she would have to learn which children where allowed only certain meals; there would be a lot of memorizing involved in that.

"It's much better here than the high school I worked at before," Millie confided, "but I was there for my daughter until she graduated. The worst you have to worry about with these kids is a tantrum or two. Sometimes they try to trick you into giving them things they aren't allowed to have and that's the only time they get rude. I don't think they'll give you a hard time."

"Hello," Rachel called from the other side of the counter. "I just wanted to wish you good luck on your first day. Break a leg."

"Hi." Quinn found herself smiling instantly. "Thank you."

"Hello, Miss Berry," Millie called as well. "I have you to thank for getting me such a good worker?"

"Belleville is lucky to have her," Rachel clarified. "I am sure they would have come to that decision on their own had I given them an option to."

Mrs. Rose laughed and Quinn felt herself blushing. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me, Quinn," the teacher shot back. "Oh, that's the bell, I need to go. Bye-bye!"

"That little girl is the best thing to happen since I started working here," Millie commented as she turned to continue showing the blonde the color codes for meals.

"I believe you," Quinn replied brightly.

* * *

Rachel scanned her lesson plan quickly while the children were outside enjoying recess. Beth's behavior had improved every day since her mother began working at the school and Quinn was quickly becoming popular with both the students and the staff. The brunette could already see the blonde's mood and outlook improving, but there was still something in those hazel eyes that worried Rachel. Quinn still seemed tired and worried; perhaps thinking that a better job would solve everything was too much to hope for, but she had hoped that by now she would see more relief on the woman's face. Some of the other parents were none-to-impressed that Beth's mother was working in the lunch line—maybe that was it.

The excited chatter and reluctant groans of her students jarred her from her thoughts as Brittany lead them back into the classroom. It was a familiar sound of the children not ready to return to their seats and end their play.

"Nuh-uh!" Beth pouted. "Stop it, Finn."

"Yeah-huh!" Finn yelled back. "Is-so Beth!"

"Nuh-uh!" the girl screeched in his face before stomping to her seat.

"Children," Miss Berry asserted. "Finn, Beth, everyone—take your seats and settle down."

"I don't want to sit next to him, Miss Berry," Beth whined.

"Well ya have to," little Finn taunted. "Doesn't she, Miss Berry? She has to sit in her signed seat."

"Assigned seat," Rachel corrected, "and yes, Beth, you have to sit where you have been assigned to sit."

The little blonde huffed and took her seat with utter dejection etched on her eight-year-old face—a look of unbridled torture that threatened to turn into a tantrum.

"And, Finn, you have to sit in your assigned seat and remain silent unless answering a question," their teacher reminded him.

This brought a smile back to Beth's face and caused the boy to kick halfheartedly at his chair before plopping down in it and crossing his arms. Brittany began passing out paper and baskets of crayons; the class hummed excitedly while Rachel wrote on the dry erase board.

"Today I want you to draw something that makes you think of music," she announced, "or the way music makes you feel. At the top of your page I want you to write 'Music Is' and if you need help, Brittany or I will help you. I'm going to turn on some music now."

The room fell into an excited hush; the frantic sounds of scribbling filtered through the room as her students became lost in the task at hand. The cheerful jingle of classic children's tunes played softly from her desk as she began to circle the room to inspect their progress.

"Nuh-uh," she heard Beth whisper.

"Is-so," Finn grunted back.

"No talking," Rachel reminded them as she edged closer.

As she made her way back towards the front of the room, she heard the boy begin speaking again.

"You do so have to marry me because I kissed you," he was saying. "Because if you don't, that means you're a slut, and that's bad because when Mrs. Motta said it about your mom, mommy got all mad at her."

"Well, I don't and I'm not!" Beth yelled. "And my mommy isn't, either."

"Children!" Rachel snapped, but Beth was already out of her seat and towering over the boy.

"Mrs. Motta says she is!" Finn spat back. "Because you don't have a daddy she says that means she's a—"

"Finn," their teacher warned again. "Beth, return to your seats and stop talking."

"I do so have a daddy!" the girl screamed. "I have a daddy and I don't have to marry you!"

With that, Beth kicked the boy hard in the shins and Rachel grabbed her gently, pulling her far enough back to save the boy from another kick.

"I do so have a daddy," the girl wailed up at her, blue eyes filled to the brim with tears. "And my mommy isn't a-a—what he said."

"A slut," Finn repeated innocently before his voice turned hateful. "And you don't have a daddy or else he would live with you."

Beth buried her head in Rachel's shoulder and sobbed; the brunette felt a sudden flash of unnatural anger as she narrowed her eyes on her student.

"Finn! Time out! Now!" Miss Berry demanded loudly.

"But it's true!" he whimpered back. "She kicked me, how come she's not timed too?"

"I'm not going to argue with you, Finn Hudson! Time out this second or I'll send you to Mrs. Zizes' office!" Rachel roared, causing all the students to shudder at the mention of their principal's name.

"But how come?" Finn yelled back.

"Now!" their teacher insisted. "One, two—"

With that, the boy stood up and kicked his chair over as his eyes filled with tears and he stomped walked to the back of the room and flung himself into the corner. Rachel was could feel herself trembling and she lowered Beth to the floor.

"Brittany," she said shakily. "Could you mind the room for a moment?"

Without waiting for an answer, Miss Berry turned and headed for the door; she paused in front of the bulletin board for a second, her hand on the doorknob, before yanking down her picture and exiting the room.

* * *

Moments later, Rachel found herself in the staff lounge bathroom, her back pressed against a stall door as she sat on the cold tile. She was slowly picking at the gold stars that lined her photo and a neat pile of what she deemed no longer deserved praise was growing next she her knees. A light tapping sounded from the door as it cracked open.

"Rachel?" Quinn whispered before pushing the door all the way open.

The brunette didn't respond, opting to ignore the blonde as she continued to pick at a star. Her friend crouched down beside her and scooped up the already discarded stickers.

"What are you doing?" her friend asked softly. "Rachel, stop that."

The photo was quickly yanked free of her grip and her hands fell limply into her lap.

"Rachel." Quinn groaned. "So you lost your temper one time, so what?"

"So what?" Rachel croaked. "How can you say that? What if I had lost my temper with Beth? Would you think it was nothing then?"

She could hear the other woman chuckle lightly as she took a seat next to her.

"I would say that you were human." Beth's mother sighed. "But I have to admit I find it kind of awesome that you lost it while standing up for my little girl. Still, it was bound to happen; that's what kids do—they push every button you have some days. It happens."

"Well it's never happened to me," Rachel mumbled sourly.

"You mean in all your one-half year of teaching, you've never lost your cool?" Quinn scoffed gently. "Well then, I guess you're right; you're a horrible teacher and you should be stripped of your teaching license."

The brunette rested her head back against the stall and huffed; she felt guilty for letting her fondness for the girl and her mother to cloud her usually unbiased logic—and for leaving her aid in the lurch afterwards.

"In the future, there is a back door to the kitchen that you could use to take a break next time you think you're going to boil over," the blonde said casually. "You could take up smoking."

"Quinn!" Rachel gasped, and her friend laughed. "That is not in the least bit funny!"  
"I don't know, you might look sexy smoking a cigarette," Quinn teased back. "Maybe a clove cigarette—it'll look more artsy."

"That is a disgusting habit and a horrible example to set for children," the brunette argued back.

"And I'm completely kidding," her friend laughed, "but my point is you care about every one of those kids in there, and because of that, I seriously doubt you have to worry about this happening again. You won't let it happen."

She was quiet as she mulled over what Quinn had said; a few seconds later, she nodded and allowed the blonde to help her up from the floor.

"I still do not like that I behaved unprofessionally," Rachel muttered.

"I'm relieved." Quinn laughed. "You were beginning to be too perfect."

The brunette gaped at her indignantly, which only caused Miss Fabray to laugh harder. Her hands were instantly on her hips as she stared up at the blonde.

"Are you going to put me in time out?" Beth's mom said with a tone of mock-fear.

That was the last straw for Miss Berry, and with a huff, she brushed past Quinn to head for the door; the other woman's hand was on her wrist quickly and she gasped as she turned around.

"I'm sorry," Quinn apologized, though there were still hints of mirth in her voice and eyes. "Look, Puck has Beth this weekend and I still don't know what to do with myself on the weekends now that I'm off work. How about you come by Saturday for a 'girl's night' or something?"

Despite herself, a smile spread over Rachel's face as she retrieved her photo from the blonde. "I'd like that very much."

* * *

Quinn hurtled around her tiny apartment, trying to tidy up as Beth continued to impersonate a tiny human tornado. The blonde suddenly found herself embarrassed by the shabby furniture and piles of half-finished projects—it was part of being a single mom on a minuscule budget. Part of her was berating herself for not keeping one of her waitressing jobs for the weekends, but the whole point of the change was to have time to focus on Beth and do more typical mother things. She'd been embarrassed a lot over the past few years of her life; from the moment she realized her one-time indiscretion had resulted in her pregnancy, to the way she had been found out in high-school months later, and when her parents had kicked her out and she had learned she had no true friends to back her up. Further, when she had the ill-conceived notion to accept Puck's invitation to live at his house, which his mother had not been consulted about, to the shelter she had ended up staying in while couple after couple vied for a promise from her to let them adopt her baby. In the end, she hadn't been able to go through with it; once she held Beth in her arms, she knew she couldn't let her go. From there it had been working and scraping until she had enough for this little one bedroom apartment, day and night serving customers who either treated her like furniture or hit on her endlessly. Quinn had endured it all and had developed an even thicker skin than she already had—which was saying something—but try as she might, she couldn't dodge every pointed barb that was hurled at her and sometimes it seemed like too much to bear, but it was all for Beth. As she watched her little girl making snow-angels in a pile of laundry, she knew she would have done it all over again, only perhaps a little better. There were many things she would have changed or apologized for, but Beth was not one of them.

_I might have fucked up my life,_ Quinn thought, _but I won't mess up hers._

With a heavy sigh, she sent her daughter back to her room as sternly as she could muster and began again on the laundry. She had never looked at her home as anything to be ashamed of, but then again she'd never really had company over besides Puck, and he had no room to judge. As she placed each piece of folded laundry back into the basket, she closed her eyes and imagined what Rachel's house must be like and it made her nervous that the brunette would be here any minute to see her third-hand pull out couch that served as her bed at night and the warn, miss-matched end tables. The blonde wondered what Miss Berry would think of the dated stove and refrigerator or the toilet that had to be finessed just right in order to flush properly. The kitchen was clean and stocked and the living room carpet was as spotless as it would ever be; the bathroom was sanitary and in as much order as you could expect with a little girl constantly sneaking in to play with mommy's makeup. The apartment was mostly presentable, but Quinn found herself feeling self-conscious about the little things all of a sudden. She hadn't really thought of decorating beyond Beth's room, which was the only room in the house with fresh paint and new furniture, and now she wondered about how it would appear to an outsider.

With Beth's clothes neatly folded, Quinn carried the small pile of her own clothing to the dresser that also served as a TV stand and tucked them away before carrying the basket into her daughter's room. Her pride and joy bounced up and down on the bright pink sheets of her bed, which had just been made moments ago, and giggled excitedly.

"When is daddy coming?" she asked impatiently.

"Soon, Beth, I promise," Quinn assured her. "He texted an hour ago to say he was on his way."

Beth hopped down and began piling clothes and toys into her little suitcase.

"You know the rules," her mother chastised lightly, "you have toys at daddy's that stay there and your home toys stay home. Except for Mr. Schue."

The little blonde pouted and stomped her foot, but it only took one look from her mother to send her picking through the luggage to clear out all the toys she wasn't allowed to take, leaving only the wooly little lamb stuffed animal that the girl had named Mr. Schue. Her mother had no idea why he was named that, but she hadn't argued.

"I want to bring Emma too," Beth pleaded. "Mr. Schue is lonely without her."

Quinn smiled as she picked up the red-haired doll and placed it gently on top of the pillow. "Emma keeps your room clean and safe while you're at daddy's, remember?"

The girl let out an exasperated sigh. "Mommy, I just made that up; I know that you keep the room clean and not Emma."

Her mother let her face fall into a look of shock and awe; inwardly, she was disappointed every time Beth started to show signs of growing up. Quinn was sure that she would die a little inside when her little girl finally stopped believing in Santa Claus. Her baby was wary of the concept already, but she did everything in her power to keep the magic of Santa alive long after the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny had bit the dust.

"I do?" She gasped. "Then I must be doing it in my sleep because I could have sworn it was Emma."

"Emma could clean my room at daddy's and nanna's," Beth tested.

"I don't think Emma could handle it." Quinn laughed before catching herself. "Don't say that to nanna, sweetie; mommy didn't mean that."

Her daughter snapped the suitcase shut and lugged it up onto the bed.

"Fine," Beth huffed before adding mischievously, "but Auntie Abi is going to do my makeup like a big girl and paint my nails and you can't wash it off—so there!"

Quinn threw up her hands and backed out of the bedroom with a chuckle as her daughter dissolved into fits of laughter in the bedroom. She was back in the living room quickly and setting to work on her next project—picking up toys and books. The blonde had managed to get her daughter to pile everything into one corner and now it was just a matter of sorting and shelving the books while tossing the toys and other items into their appropriate bins. She was half way done when there was a knock at the door.

"Coming, Noah," Quinn called as she yanked open the closet door and shoved a box of toys inside.

He was late; Noah Puckerman was late even by Puck-standard-time and Quinn was agitated with him. Beth's father had called last night to say he wouldn't be able to pick his daughter up until Saturday morning because his work was keeping him late. He was a good dad, in many ways, and he worked hard to do his part, but it was still frustrating that Saturday morning had become Saturday evening and Quinn had to make excuses to their little girl each time she asked. Quinn had sent several texts along the lines of **there had better be a damn good reason you're late** and **you're going to have to make this up to Beth**. All she had gotten in return was **I'm on my way, relax, what have you got a hot date or something **and **I've got it covered Beth's gonna have a blast**. Neither of which made her feel the least bit better.

"Brush your hair, Beth," Quinn called as she yanked open the door, ready to scorch Puck with a withering glare.

Quinn froze, angry expression and all, at the sight of Rachel on her doorstep holding a basket of treats and movies.

"Am I late?" the brunette asked nervously.

"No," the blonde managed to spit out before ushering her inside. "No, I'm sorry; I was expecting someone else. You're early—I don't know why that surprised me."

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I too early?" Rachel stammered apologetically.

"No, no," Quinn assured her—that was all there was time to say before her daughter came screaming from the bathroom.

"Miss Berry! Miss Berry!" Beth bubbled happily.

"Hello, Beth." The woman gasped excitedly as the little bundle of excitement hit her full force and wrapped her legs in a tight hug. "I didn't think I would get to see you today."

"You're lucky she's still at the age where she actually wants to see her teacher outside of school." Quinn laughed. "Her father is a little late picking her up; he should be here any minute now."

"I wanna show you my room." The little girl was tugging at their guest and Quinn rescued the basket before the brunette was forced to drop it. "Can I mamma? Can I show her my room? Do you want to see my room?"

Both women laughed as Beth all but pushed her teacher down the short hallway and into the bedroom. Quinn took the girl's-night-supplies to the kitchen and flipped through the movies while she eavesdropped on the excited squeals and chatter in the other room. The blonde was surprised to see a bottle of wine tucked in the corner of the basket.

_Well, it is girl's night_. She thought to herself as she slid it into the fridge to chill. _Do I still have wine glasses?_

Tucked far back into the corner of a cabinet, she found two cups that would pass for fine dining and rinsed them quickly in the sink. By the time another knock sounded at the door, she had almost forgotten that she was supposed to be angry.

"Where's my baby girl?" Puck called before acknowledging Quinn when she answered the door.

Beth's mother heard her daughter shriek from down the hall and she took a split second to shoot him a dirty look.

"She's where she has been since eight-o-clock last night—in her room waiting for her father to pick her up," she said lightly.

"Aww don't be like that," he grumbled. "I told you I had a good reason; I picked up three new clients and I couldn't very well leave them hanging."

"I know," Quinn sighed, "I know."

"Miss Berry is here!" Beth announced as she pulled her teacher to the door.

Miss Fabray staggered out of the way to keep from being knocked out the door and into Noah. Her cheeks flushed as she watched her ex look the woman up and down without bothering to hide it. The brunette's smile looked slightly uncomfortable and Quinn rolled her eyes as Puck eyed the woman once again for good measure.

"That's good, baby," he said warmly to his daughter. "I was almost afraid that mommy had a date with some loser."

"Mommy stopped having dates with losers a long time ago," Quinn said cheerfully. "Isn't that right, Beth?"

The little blonde nodded her head seriously as she beamed up at her father. "Mommy only dates the best, daddy."

Quinn felt a little guilty for the hurt in Noah's eyes, but they both knew that Beth didn't understand what had just happened. Besides, he was late and rude; he had to know he would suffer the consequences, and on a less mature note, he started it. They both knew that at this moment Beth considered her father 'the best' and it was likely to stay that way for years to come. True to form, Puck bounced back quickly as he hoisted his daughter all the way up onto his shoulders.

"Are you ready to rock?" he yelled, and his little girl threw up both hands with her pinkies and index fingers raised.

"Yeah!" she cheered.

"Can you get her bag?" Puck asked as he turned around in circles.

"I managed to bring that with me while I was being escorted out of her bedroom," Rachel said suddenly.

"Awesome," Beth's father replied, holding out a fist that the teacher only stared at in confusion before handing over the small luggage.

"You a-sposed to knucks." Beth laughed as she tilted down to smack her tiny fist against her fathers.

"Not everyone's ready for Puck-knucks." He shrugged, jostling the girl in the process. "So, you're Beth's teacher?"

"Yes, Miss Berry; it's nice to meet you," Rachel said politely.

"Yeah," Puck answered none too smoothly, causing the brunette to look at Quinn in panic.

"Ok, Noah," Beth's mom intervened. "I think that's enough trying to get our daughter kicked out of private school. Go have fun, sweetie."

"Love you, mommy!" Beth called over her shoulder as her father spun around and headed for his truck.

"I love you more!" Quinn called before closing the door. "Sorry about him. Puck can be—"

"A bit forward." Rachel nodded.

"Sure." The blonde shrugged, holding back her full opinion. "Let me take your coat."

* * *

Quinn woke with a stiff neck to the annoying sound of a looping DVD menu; she groaned as she forced herself off the couch, where she had apparently fallen asleep the night before during the movie, and she squinted at the clock on the wall that indicated it was 7:18 A.M. She had been curled up against the arm of the furniture and her legs and back complained angrily as she forced them to stretch. Though her sleepy haze, she saw Rachel curled up on the other half of the couch, using her coat as a blanket. The brunette still had the deep cleansing facial mask from the night before drying on her face; chunks of the chemical infused clay were crumbled and cracked on the jacket, couch, and floor beneath her. Quinn covered her mouth to keep from waking her friend with laughter and the mask on her own face crumbled into her hand. The blonde let out a shocked yelp as she dashed down the hall and into the bathroom to wash it off.

"Quinn," she heard Rachel call from the living room. "Are you alright? I'm sorry, I think I fell asleep."

A dramatic yawn could be heard over the sound of the water Quinn was running in the sink and she could picture Rachel stretching and rubbing her face.

"Oh my goodness!" The brunette shrieked.

Rachel was in the bathroom within seconds and she squeezed against the blonde at the sink.

"Why did you allow me to fall asleep with this mask still on?" she demanded between throwing handfuls of against her face.

"Why did you let me?" Quinn chuckled back as she handed her a washcloth. "We're pretty lame; we didn't even touch the wine or make it through one movie."

"These things are supposed to be relaxing, not sleep inducing." The brunette huffed.

"You should write a strongly worded letter to the company," the blonde played seriously. "They would have to add a warning label. Warning: May cause drowsiness in overworked mothers or teachers."

"I don't know if the label would say that exactly, but perhaps there should be a—" Miss Berry agreed before pausing. "You're mocking me, aren't you?"

Quinn held her thumb and index fingers close together. "Only a little."

Rachel huffed again as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn patch of mask.

"I'm sorry that I'm so boring." The blonde sighed. "You were probably looking forward to spending time with someone over the age of nine."

"Oh no," Rachel assured her, "I am sure when you invited me over you were expecting a much more exciting time and I fell asleep on you. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Quinn laughed as she handing the woman a towel.

"What are your plans for the day?" the brunette asked.

"Just some shopping and a few errands," the blonde responded.

"Would you like some company?" Rachel asked, her voice muffled by the towel as she dried her face.

Quinn stared at the woman as she ran her fingers through her hair and smiled.

"Sure." She nodded.

"Fantastic," her friend bubbled. "I made sure to finish all my grading Friday night and Saturday morning to prepare for our 'girl's night'. Are you sure I won't be in the way?"

"Nope," the blonde answered happily. "But you might find it boring."

"Nonsense!" Rachel said lightly before all but skipping out of the bathroom.

Miss Fabray leaned in the doorway of the bathroom while she watched Miss Berry scurry around the living room to collect up her things; it had been a long time since she'd had any company besides her daughter and the thought made her smile. She turned back to the mirror to apply her makeup quickly.

* * *

Five stores, a car wash, and several groceries bags later, Quinn found herself sipping wine on the couch as Rachel chatted lightly over the movie playing on the TV screen. The blonde tasted the wine cautiously; it had never been her preferred drink, but the bottle the brunette had brought was actually quite good. As Pretty Woman played on the screen, they found themselves mostly ignoring it, though they both stopped mid-conversation to mimic the more iconic scenes from time to time.

"You people work on commission right?" Quinn quoted seriously.

"Big mistake. Big. Huge," Rachel joined in with a laugh. "I have to go shopping now."

The blonde glanced over her shoulder at the bottle of wine resting on the kitchen counter; it was over half empty. The brunette followed her gaze and popped up on her feet and hurried to the kitchen to retrieve it, finishing it off equally between their two glasses.

"I probably shouldn't," Quinn sighed, "Beth will be home tonight."

"Don't be silly." Rachel giggled, obviously more affected by the drink than Quinn. "Surely one bottle of wine won't impair your judgment that badly; plus, you won't be driving anywhere, plus, I believe I have had more than half of it."

"I guess I will just make coffee before Puck brings her home," the blonde decided as she took another sip.

"There is nothing wrong with enjoying yourself from time to time, Quinn, responsibly." The brunette sighed. "You are allowed time to yourself, you know?"

Quinn blushed at the intense look on her friend's face and she let out a heavy sigh as she struggled to explain herself.

"I just want to be a good," she began before pausing, "no, a perfect—no, the perfect mother."

"That's ridiculous!" Rachel blurted.

Miss Fabray's jaw dropped in shock and the teacher hurried to clarify.

"I simply mean that no one is perfect 100% of the time, that is all," the brunette sputtered. "And every child is different. There is no one way to parent, and you are an absolutely wonderful mother. Beth is so incredibly lucky and you shouldn't put so much pressure on yourself. Trust yourself, Quinn, and I have no doubt you will continue to be an utterly tremendous mom."

"I don't know," she mumbled. "Sometimes I feel like I'm messing it all up."

"How so?" Rachel inquired, her head titled as she searched Quinn's face.

Quinn shrugged her shoulders. "Sometimes I feel like I'm being selfish by not giving Beth the family she wants. She hates living between our two homes; I feel like I should have taken Puck's offer for her—like I put myself over her wants and needs. He's not so bad; maybe it was selfish of me."

"Hush," her friend said as she sat her glass down on the side table.

Rachel took Quinn's glass from her hand and set it aside before taking the blonde's hand in her own.

"Beth has a mother, and a father, who love her," Miss Berry spoke warmly. "Some children never have that, and you are not being selfish by not marrying a man that you do not love. Do you know why? You are giving her something so much better than that; you are showing her that she should never settle. You're setting an important example to follow your heart and never compromise when it comes to love. What an amazing thing for her to be learning—it's amazing, Quinn. It's such a hard concept to understand at any age and it's not selfish in the least."

Perhaps it was the wine catching up to her, but Rachel's hands felt every bit as warm as her words and Quinn's defenses cracked as a tear slid freely down her cheek.

"I'm sorry," she rasped. "I know I'm a mess. You're right, but it's just something that makes Beth different. I know what kids are like; I was awful in high school, and it's bad enough that they repeat what their parents say to her. Soon they will be laughing at her because I've made her life different; Beth will suffer because I won't give her a normal family."

"Hush, hush," Rachel soothed as she wrapped Quinn in a warm hug.

Had she broken down in front of anyone else, she would have been mortified, but this felt natural and safe. Being held and comforted by Rachel didn't seem like weakness.

"Yes, children can be foolish and cruel, and so can adults," the brunette nodded, "but you marrying a man you do not have feelings for would not stop it. They will simply find something else to pick on her about, and Beth is so strong and smart, like her mother; I do not think she will take it sitting down. She will put them in her place; she's much more self-confident than I was at her age and I survived."

She leaned back, reluctant to leave the warm and comforting embrace to study Rachel's face.

"What did they pick on you about?" Quinn asked softly. "Probably because they were jealous; I know I would have."

"Perhaps in high school," Rachel laughed, "but at Beth's age, it was because of my fathers."

The blonde hadn't thought of what it must have been like for a little girl growing up with two fathers and no mother; she could only imagine how the other children must have teased her.

"I'm sorry," she said sadly. "That must have been horrible for you."

"It was confusing and hurtful," the brunette admitted. "I couldn't understand why they were making fun of us. My fathers were wonderful, but I did wonder about my mother from time to time. I think that is what hurt the most. When they teased me about not having a mother—saying she must have hated me to give me away to my dads. All in all, I had an amazing childhood, and in time, I realized that is wasn't a problem with me, but with them, but I believe it has made me a more compassionate person."

"And you don't resent them?" Quinn asked frankly.

"No," Rachel gasped, "why would I? They taught me what real love is. I never questioned whether or not they loved each other completely, or that they loved me; it was apparent in everything they did. It isn't their fault that other people were ignorant and cruel."

"I envy you." Miss Fabray sighed.

"Do you resent your parents?" Miss Berry asked. "I've never even heard you, or Beth for that matter, mention them."

"That's because Beth has never met them," Quinn sighed, "and never will. They kicked me out when they found out I was pregnant. She doesn't know them and I don't think I ever really knew them either—the definitely didn't know me."

"Oh," Rachel replied quietly.

Quinn removed her hands from Rachel's grasp and retrieved her glass; as she sipped, her guest followed suit.

"We don't have to talk about them," Rachel assured her lightly.

"Thank you," Quinn breathed.

"When was the last time you dated?" the brunette asked casually, and the blonde nearly spat out her dark red drink.

Somehow she managed to gulp it down and answer, "About nine years."

It was Rachel's turn to struggle with her wine and Beth's mother smiled as she watched the woman gag it down and stare.

"How is that even possible?" Rachel sputtered. "You're gorgeous and smart and—how?"

"I'm not all that." Quinn laughed.

"Nine years?" the brunette repeated, still obviously in shock.

"How long for you?" the blonde countered.

"Well, I, um," Beth's teacher stammered.

Quinn cocked an eyebrow as she watched Rachel toy with the stem of her glass.

"Four," Rachel admitted.

"Four?" Quinn asked in confusion. "Days, weeks, or months?"

"Years," the brunette admitted.

She felt her eyes go wide as she gawked at her friend; Beth's mother had her many reasons for not dating, but Rachel? What was wrong with the men in this town?

"I don't believe that," Quinn said with a giggle. "You're just trying to make me feel better."

"It's complicated; I'm busy, and," Rachel hurried her words, "don't laugh at me."

"I'm not," she lied, trying to put on a serious face.

She couldn't help but be amused at her friend's sudden look of panic; Rachel was so dramatic that it was hard to take her seriously at times. To cover her mirth, Quinn tilted her head back and chugged the contents of her glass quickly. The brunette was gaping at her when she brought her head back down.

"What?" Quinn giggled as warm brown eyes studied her.

The blonde blushed as the woman continued to study her without answering.

"Rachel?" she asked and the brunette shook her head.

"Nothing." Rachel sighed.

"Convincing." Quinn pouted.

Miss Fabray had a sinking feeling that her friend had suddenly realized that she was not worth her time or friendship and it caused her to blush all the more.

"It's your eyes," Miss Berry said seriously. "No matter how happy you seem, there is always a little sadness in them."

Quinn blinked and fell silent; people said and assumed lots of things about her, to her, and behind her back—but people rarely seemed concerned with her feelings. Was she happy? Was she ok? Quinn had long since stopped expecting anyone to care. Things had been getting better and everyone expected her to happier now.

"Why aren't you happy, Quinn?" Rachel asked sheepishly. "And is there anything I can do to help?"

The warmth in the brunette's eyes was as intoxicating as the wine; she leaned forward took the glass from her hand and set it out of the way.

"I don't know," she whispered.

"You don't know if I can help, or you don't know why you aren't happy?" Rachel asked.

"I don't know," Quinn repeated.

Her hands felt warm and strange; the brunette wasn't backing away from her even though there was room on the couch. The warmth of the other woman washed over the blonde and before she knew it, she was brushing a dark strand of hair over Rachel's ear. Quinn's palm rested lightly on the brunette's shoulder and she waited for it to be brushed away or for it to move of its own volition, but it didn't.

"I just," Quinn sighed, "don't know."

She found herself leaning closer and pressing her lips to Rachel's. The brunette seemed to hold her breath for a second before her lips parted and she returned the kiss. Her lips were a better tonic than the wine; whereas the alcohol had dulled her worrisome thoughts, Rachel's kiss emptied her mind completely. Quinn's consciousness settled into the certainty of this moment; her busy brain had only one thought and even that flitted delicately in the background—what Rachel felt like. The blonde's breath caught in her throat as the brunette's tongue grazed hers and she felt fifteen again, as though she had forgotten how to kiss. She was learning quickly, though, and her body took over where her memory was unsure. Soon, Quinn's tongue was tangling effortlessly with Rachel's as her hands slid down to the woman's elbows and pulled her closer. The brunette seemed to fold into her eagerly as the blonde moved her kisses haphazardly along her jaw line and onto her neck.

Quinn's mind was blissfully blank; she couldn't remember the last time she hadn't been working out three issues simultaneously, and suddenly her thoughts were filled with Rachel. Her smell, her taste, her lips, and her dark toned skin. The brunette brushed back her blonde locks with one hand and cupped her neck with her warm tanned hands, pulling herself all the more close as she nibbled at the base of the blonde's neck. Quinn flushed as her nerves awoke and roared back to life under her skin; it felt good let someone else lead, to hand control over even if it were momentary, and she let out a loud moan. Rachel glided her free hand down the length of Quinn's arm and interlaced their fingers. The blonde gripped the wrist of the hand still cupping her neck, then allowed it to slip to the brunette's elbow, and finally rested it lightly on Rachel's shoulder, where her thumb gently traced circles along her pulse point.

The teacher's mouth was on hers again and Quinn eagerly accepted her tongue; the aggressiveness of the kiss caused Rachel to teeter and she gripped the blonde's shoulders tightly as she shifted her legs to straddled Quinn's lap. The pressure was comforting and Quinn could feel more parts of her awakening, long forgotten points of interest, but the thoughts that had been previously dispelled were beginning to stir—an army of cares rallying for battle. As Rachel's hand grazed tentatively over Quinn's breast, they charged, and the blonde froze under their relentless onslaught.

"I'm sorry," Rachel whispered desperately. "Was that too bold?"

The brunette brought her hand quickly back up to Quinn's shoulder.

Beth's mother shook her head, attempting to clear her thoughts, and Rachel leaned forward to continue kissing her. The blonde flinched, and the brunette leaned back to study her face intently.

"Quinn?" Rachel said shakily.

Quinn shook her head again; she could feel her face was clammy, blanched of color, and her eyes must undoubtedly be wide with panic. She shook her head again and began wiggling loose from Rachel. Each movement was torturous, but the blonde had to break free—it was too tempting. The minute her feet touched the floor, reality hit her full force; she inwardly staggered and her face flamed again. Quinn was desperate to look anywhere but at the silent brunette on the couch. Credits rolled on the TV screen and she took to opportunity for distraction, ejecting the DVD and popping it back into its case before dropping it into the basket next to the TV.

"Quinn," Rachel wheezed from the couch. "I'm so sorry. Did I do something wrong?"

The blonde opened her mouth, but no words were going to make it past the deafening den inside her head. She stumbled numbly towards the kitchen as she waited for a cohesive sentence to form.

"Do you want some coffee?" Quinn asked casually as she fumbled with the canister.

"No." Rachel huffed before taking a deep breath. "Quinn, we need to talk about this! Believe me, this was not my intention when I came to spend time with you. I assure you, I didn't plan to get you drunk and take any form of advantage. I was barely aware that I harbored any feelings for you beyond friendship, so understand that this is very confusing for me as well. I've never—I haven't—could we please talk about—"

"No," the blonde shouted.

_Barely aware? So you knew a little at least._ Quinn thought; her body ached at the thought. _I had no idea._

Miss Berry cringed and that sent an entire new flurry of thoughts scurrying through her brain.

"I—I just can't talk about this now," Quinn stuttered through her teeth.

The blonde stared blankly down at the coffee maker and realized she had no idea what step of the coffee making process she was in or how many scoops of granules were already in the filter.

_Shit_, she thought but out of habit the word that escaped her lips was, "Sugar."

Quinn counted herself lucky to feel so oddly numb; she could hear Beth's teacher struggling to control her emotion on the couch as she dumped one last scoop into the filter for good measure. The blonde felt a slight prickle in her chest, like a limb that had fallen asleep and was now being forced to move, as she heard Rachel' s feet shuffle against the carpet and the ruffle of her clothes as she straightened them hastily.

"Quinn, please," the brunette was trying again, her voice edged and slightly ragged. "I need to talk about this. I need to know that what has happened isn't going to poison our friendship. Don't you want to try to understand what just happened? We need to talk about it."

"No," she rasped as she watched overly dark liquid stream into the coffee pot. "Beth will be home soon; there isn't time to—and I can't—I don't—there is nothing to talk about, Miss Berry."

"Miss Berry," Rachel yelled. "Miss Berry! Quinn!"

Quinn's head shot up and she saw tears pooling around brown eyes; her heart squeezed to a stop before sounding angrily in her ears. Her body wanted to close the space between them and wrap her up; this was a betrayal. After all, the genuine friendship and care Rachel had shown her it was cruel to shut her out—to leave her standing barefoot in the living room in pain. Her pride and the shadow of her old self, on the other hand, would not allow her to move an inch. She could only stare, through dry hazel eyes, at the girl breaking down the other side of the couch.

"Don't shut me out," Rachel pleaded. "Quinn, I can't lose you as a friend. I just can't bear the thought."

"Of course we are friends, Miss Berry," the blonde said, her voice seemed hollow and foreign. "Rachel, I'm sorry, but Beth will be home soon. You understand? I don't want her to have to go to sleep wondering why you are so upset."

Quinn hated the smile that was forming on her lips, but she felt so powerless to behave like a human being.

Rachel gaped at her for a second before nodding. "Of course—Beth—yes, of course. I-I should go—we can talk about this later."

With that, Miss Berry hurried to the closet to collect her coat; the brunette struggled to pull it on and collected the basket she had brought with her. Her face was obscured by her tussled dark hair as she slumped towards the door without looking up from the floor.

"Goodbye," Rachel mumbled quickly as she let herself out.

The door slammed behind her and Quinn finally felt the first wave of tears rush to her eyes and her legs began to shake. She gripped the counter for support.

"Bye," Quinn choked out before her knees buckled underneath her.

* * *

Half an hour later, Quinn was still sitting on the kitchen floor; her tears had stopped, but she was by no means feeling any better. Her body was still warm, the nerves still awake and firing inside her, and a dull but painful throb still tortured her from every erogenous zone. The blonde wasn't one bit clearer on how she felt about her situation. Quinn felt awful about how she had behaved with Rachel, but she hadn't known what else to do—she still didn't know. She had pulled out her phone several times, but each time she had stuffed it back into her pocket. The blonde couldn't talk to Rachel yet; she couldn't face what had happened—what was still happening to her.

As she reasoned, Quinn first faulted the wine, but its effect was wearing off already and the brunette's kiss was still with her. The blonde had been drunk before, so no matter how she tried, she couldn't blame it on the alcohol. Her next culprit was sexual frustration. Quinn tried to convince herself that nine years had taken its toll on her, but she had to abandon that theory. If she were being honest, it hadn't been hard to give up romance, and it hadn't been that hard for her to turn down the men who asked her out. She had work to keep her busy and Beth to keep her company; that had been all she had needed and it hadn't been difficult for her to forgo sexual entanglements. Quinn's last, desperate consideration had been that it was Rachel's warmth and kindness that was, in part, to blame. Perhaps she had confused the brunette's friendship and caring for something more; she wanted to believe that she had acted upon a misunderstanding of friendly feelings. Quinn was wrong, of course, and she knew it. What she had done wasn't out of drunkenness, frustration, or misplaced gratitude. It was because Miss Fabray wanted Miss Berry. Quinn wanted Rachel; she found the brunette warm, attractive, and desirable.

The blonde longed for the brunette, pure and simple, and it felt like more than a crush. She refused to call it love, even in her thoughts, but she couldn't un-realize that she desperately desired the other woman, which only brought more questions to mind.

_I'm gay?_ Quinn inwardly gasped at the thought as it sunk in. _I'm gay_.

Even if the blonde could accept that particular revelation, if she could overlook that she and Rachel were coworkers and there were probably rules against them seeing each other, and even if she wasn't aware that it was most likely illegal for a teacher to be involved with a student's parent, all those ifs didn't cover her biggest worry—Beth. Quinn has been struggling with guilt over turning down Puck's proposal because if how it might affect their daughter. What could something like this do to her little girl? It was too much to expect Beth to face the slings and tormenting that Rachel had described on top of everything else. One indiscretion had brought Beth into this world; Quinn couldn't let another one ruin her daughter's life.

"Fudge," Quinn said out loud. _Fuck_, she thought.

It felt too selfish to pursue Rachel when it could alter Beth's life so completely, but letting go wasn't as easy as the blonde hoped it would be. She'd never regretted keeping her daughter; she'd never resented giving up things for herself so that her baby could have what she needed and wanted. Quinn had always been willing to sacrifice, but this felt different; she needed Rachel in her life. Beyond the physical attraction, the blonde needed the brunette's friendship and support. She had been alone for so long with no one on her side; Quinn wasn't sure she could go back to living that way again. What Quinn needed was a way to fix things. Talking might have been the best course of action, but she was in no way ready to do that.

_It was a fluke_, Quinn assured herself,_ between the stress, frustration, and the wine—it was just a perfect storm. Rachel only wants to talk about it because she thinks it meant something to me, so I just have to show her that it didn't. I mean, come on, it couldn't. _

The blonde was grasping at straws, building a comfortably barrier out of all her previously discarded theories whether they were true or not. She wrapped herself in the newly forged denial as she picked herself up off the floor. The only kink in her armor was the undeniable sexual energy that was still coursing through her body. Nearly an hour later, it still had yet to ebb away, she would have to do something about—Quinn needed a distraction.

As if on cue, she heard the familiar slam of a truck door and the blonde rushed for the bathroom to check herself in the mirror. Her hazel eyes were still slightly puffy and pink rimmed, but she doubted anyone would notice; she splashed a little cool water onto her face for good measure. Beth's mother hurried back to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee; her cup was only half full when Puck knocked at the door.

"Coming," she called as she walked slowly across the living room.

Puck struggled to carry his daughter's suitcase without disturbing the little sleeping blonde curled up against his shoulder. They were quite the picture together and Quinn couldn't help but smile as she took the case for him.

"Just put her in bed," she whispered. "No need to wake her."

He nodded and strode off towards the bedroom; the blonde dropped the tiny luggage on the couch and tiptoed back to the kitchen to finish pouring her coffee. When Beth's father entered the living room, he was already defensive.

"Look, I know I'm a little late," he began, "but—"

"It's fine, Puck." Quinn shrugged and the man gaped. "Don't be so surprised. I'm not always a bee—ugh, bitch."

Puck eyed her for a second before cracking a smile.

"Mind if I grab a cup of coffee, baby mama?" he asked smoothly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

She knew he was waiting for her to send him packing, like always. Noah usually had a few excuses up his sleeve to try to stay over as long as possible. The blonde sighed and gave him an uneven smile.

"Sure." Quinn shrugged and once again shock registered on his face.

A sly smile played across his lips as he darted into the kitchen before she could change her mind.

"Thanks." Puck chuckled. "So how was your weekend? You girls stay up all night drooling over the Puckster?"

Quinn rolled her eyes and he laughed before giving her a quick wink.

"It's nothin' to be ashamed of, ya know?" he continued. "I have that effect on the—"

She couldn't be sure who was more shocked when she pounced on him, pressing her lips clumsily to his, but soon his arms were enveloping her. His arms felt hard, cold, and unnatural against her body and the blonde shivered, but kept going, pressing further into his unbending embrace. The electricity that had been jolting under her skin for hours was fading with every rough kiss he planted on her; Quinn had hoped she could use him to sate the hunger Rachel had unexpectedly awoken inside her, but it was having the opposite affect. As the man anxiously fumbled with her, the blonde remembered Puck's hands being smoother and more charismatic before, but then again, she had been sixteen at the time with nothing to compare it to.

_If I can just do this it will be proof_, Quinn encouraged herself.

"I can't believe this is finally happening." Puck sighed, his bravado and swagger gone, replaced with awe.

Noah's kisses softened, becoming more tender, as she slowed his movements and caresses.

_Just do it, Quinn_, she spurred herself on despite her lack of motivation, _he wants it and—and—_

"I've always loved you, Quinn," he admitted quietly in her ear. "I've always been waiting."

"Stop," the blonde snapped uncomfortably as she began pulling herself loose.

Instantly, Puck tightened his grip around her waist and tried to bring their faces close together again. He looked hurt and she could practically see his defenses go back up.

"Come on, baby mama, don't play me," Noah crooned.

"Noah, stop!" Quinn hissed as she broke free. "Just stop; this isn't right."

Beth's dad threw up his hands and backed away and the blonde turned quickly to the sink to avoid looking him in the eye.

"You started it, Q." Puck pouted.

Quinn bit her lip. "I know; I'm sorry, but it's not right. I can't just keep using you; it's not fair to you."

"You know I don't mind being a little used," he grumbled before taking a sip of the now chilled coffee. "Damn, this is awful."

Beth's mother sighed and rolled her eyes. "I know."

"I meant the coffee, mostly," Puck said with a shrug and a grimace as he sat the mug down.

"Mostly," Quinn repeated sadly.

"Look, I fucked it up," Noah bargained. "I got all heavy and shit on you; I was just tryin' to make you feel special and all."

"You didn't spoil anything," she assured him. "It's just never going to mean the same thing to me as it does to you. I can't just jump you every time I'm feeling scared or insecure. I'm so messed up right now that all I could think to do was use to try to make myself feel better—just like last time."

"I didn't mind," he insisted, "and I think it turned out pretty awesome last time."

Quinn scoffed at him as she grabbed the mug and dumped it down the sink, along with the rest of the pitcher. The blonde busied herself, wiping the counter, and ignoring his amused looks as best she could.

"So, what was it this time? Feeling a lil' chubby again?" Puck asked playfully.

Beth's mother rested her head against the counter and groaned.

"That bad, huh?" He sighed.

"You should go," Quinn mumbled into the cold tile under her.

"Yeah," Noah shrugged, "but you know I'm here for you, ya know? And I don't mean just for some sweet-Puck-love."

"Yeah." The blonde sighed without lifting her head. "I know."

"But that's still on the table, just putting that out there," he said cockily.

Her hazel eyes snapped up to glare at him. "Out!"

* * *

Rachel had fully intended to call a cab to drive her home since she was still feeling quite tipsy, but after the door had closed behind the brunette, she knew she would never be able to make an intelligible phone call. The petite woman had spent an hour walking in the dark alone on her way home; then things had gotten worse. Somewhere between the blonde's house and her own was the apartment complex where Brittany lived. As fate would have it, her teacher's aid was out on the lawn hunting for her pet—who she claimed could not be allowed outside unsupervised for legal reasons—at the exact moment that Rachel was shuffling by. Despite her childhood dreams of being an actress, the now second grade teacher was unable to hide her emotions. Truth be told, she had never been good at covering her feelings. The blonde had known instantly that something was terribly wrong and had refused to let Rachel continue on her way home; instead, she had very nearly drug the brunette inside so that she could cheer her up. Inside, Rachel was brought face to face with an already aggravated Santana; the hot headed brunette was pacing around the living room in completely see-through lingerie and was not pleased to find that their night was going to continue to be delayed.

In her current condition of arousal and confusion, the last thing Rachel needed was a front row view of the female anatomy, and she did her best to continue her conversation with Brittany with her eyes fixed on the floor.

"What's your problem?" Santana huffed when Rachel tried to apologize for intruding. "They're just tit's kinder-ella. I don't have anything you haven't seen before, except better, but that goes without saying."

"I'm merely trying to be polite and respectful." She sniffled.

"A bit late for that now," the other brunette grumbled, but she pulled on a housecoat quickly when her girlfriend gave her a quick look. "Alright, your forever-virgin-eyes are safe now."

The blonde leaned her head out the window quickly and scanned the back yard, making a wide variety of mews and clicks, obviously hoping to attract her cat back into the apartment. Santana looked Rachel up and down in a way that made the teacher all the more uncomfortable before heading out the door to retrieve the escapee. The moment the woman was out of the apartment, Rachel let out a strangled little cry and sat down on the bright yellow couch.

"San will be right back," Brittany said as though that would be a comfort to the brunette. "We just really need to get Lord Tubbington back inside before he violates his parole."

The nonsensical nature of the blonde's comment didn't matter; the girl's light voice was nothing more than blurred babble in Rachel's mind, which was so busy with the issues at hand. She covered her face in her hands and her tears, which had not stopped since she left Quinn's place, picked up the pace once again. A new wave of sobbing erupted from her as her palms became soaked from crying. Brittany scurried across the room and joined Rachel on the couch, wrapping one arm across the teacher's shoulder as she tried to tug one of the brunette's hands away from her face.

"Don't be sad," Brittany pleaded. "What's wrong?"

"I caught him, Britts," Santana called as she pushed the door open with her foot.

The armload of cat was struggling with the woman and she scolded the animal in Spanish as she kicked the door shut behind her.

"Well, close the window or little-lord-fucker here is gonna get out again," she grumbled as she looked up. "Oh, shit; this isn't one of those gonna-be-all-night-tragedies is it?"

"I should go," Rachel rasped out between desperate gasps for air.

"No," Brittany squeaked, "you can't go like this; I have to know what's the matter."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Stay, alright?"

The tanned girl continued to wrestle with her furry burden as she shifted him in her arms and crossed the room to close the window. Lord Tubbington stared up at her blankly after being deposited on the floor and let out a soft mew.

"So what's the damage?" Santana said casually. "Did they close down the Oshkosh store at the mall? Did you have a date and the dude bolted when he saw you because he thought you were bait for to-catch-a-predator?"

Rachel wailed and Brittany shot her girlfriend a pleading look; the brunette let out an exasperated sigh and plopped down on the other side of the crying woman.

"Fine, I'll be nice," Santana grumbled. "Just tell us what's the matter already."

"Yeah," the blonde nodded, "San and I will help you."

Rachel fought to get her breathing under control, which was made all the more difficult with two women staring at her, and dabbed at her eyes.

"This is so embarrassing," she stammered. "I don't even know what to say, where to begin, I can't even think right now. I'm thirsty."

Santana looked at her for a minute before jumping up and heading into the kitchen; seconds later, she was back with a glass of ice water and Rachel gulped it down quickly. Several glasses of water later, the bathrobe clad girl crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently; the blonde looked at her girlfriend expectantly and the usually crass girl cleared her throat.

"Just start at the beginning," Santana said gently. "Everything's going to be ok."

It was the first time Rachel had ever heard the woman speak softly, without a hint of sting or sarcasm, and it shocked her. She had no idea the other brunette's voice could sound soothing and warm, but something about the tone of her voice did calm Rachel enough to catch her breath and begin speaking. The brunette wasn't exactly comfortable airing her dirty laundry in front of the other woman yet, and she didn't think it would be wise for Brittany to know who she was crying over, so she picked a name at random to substitute for Quinn's. She did her best to explain her situation clearly, though her voice was raspy and she often had to stop to compose herself; the longer she talked the harder it became to keep the words intelligible.

"And I don't know what's happening, and she refuses to talk about it, and I think our friendship is ruined, and I don't think I could bear that," Rachel stammered before her voice pitched. "And I think I'm gay."

"Well, there you go, silver lining," Santana said sourly. "You got a problem with being gay?"

"Of course not," she exclaimed, "but I didn't exactly know that about myself—I mean I would have thought that I would have at least an inkling of that fact before now. I'm sure that to you it's no big deal, but I was totally unprepared for this and it could change my entire life—you wouldn't understand."

"I'm sure there's room in your closet; just stuff back some of those hideous sweaters. It'll be like a comfy little hobbit-hole in there for you," the other woman grumbled.

"That's not what I'm saying," Rachel mumbled. "And that's not even what I'm upset about. It just doesn't make this any easier and I knew you wouldn't understand."

"San understands," Brittany interjected softly. "When we were in high school, she didn't want anyone to know about us because she was scared and she thought she would lose her spot on the Cheerios, but now she's totally out."

Santana scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Whatever, I'm just saying you shouldn't look at it like it's a problem. Now what can you do about this Candice bitch? Why aren't you over at her house right now pounding down her door until she talks to you? Sounds like she started it in the first place."

"Because she has a little girl; I can't disrupt her life like that." Rachel gasped out.

"Ugh," the other brunette wrinkled up her nose, "pathetic. So you're going to protect her and just let her get away with this because you don't her to get caught cheating. That's bullshit. If she's stepping out on her man, then call the bitch out on it and let her deal with it. Plus, extra ew-points for trying to hook up with some old-baby-factory."

"She's not cheating on anyone; she's not married to the father," she defended. "I would never have let anything like that happen if she were involved romantically with someone. And Candice is not an old baby-factory; she is our age and has one beautiful little girl."

"Oh, Quinn," Brittany chirped. "I could tell you were into her. Hey this is great! She's completely into you too, I can tell."

"Britt," Rachel said sharply. "I changed the names for a reason and clearly she isn't into me or I would be there and not here, wouldn't I?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Santana sputtered out. "We're talking about Quinn Fabray, aren't we?"

Rachel covered her face again as the woman continued, "Oh, then you're one screwed little dwarf because Quinn Fabray is a total ice queen. Q was an alpha-bitch, prom queen, head cheerleader man eater until she became a celibacy club drop-out. Huh, come to think of it, I can't believe I never realized she was gay. Probably got knocked up trying to prove she was straight."

"She's not like that!" the petite girl yelled. "You don't even know her!"

Santana chuckled as she arched an eyebrow at Rachel. "Damn, you've got it bad, huh?"

"I'm going home." Rachel huffed, but Brittany wrapped her arms around her and wouldn't let her get up.

"San's just trying to help," the blonde assured her. "We're sorry, aren't we, San?"

Brittany's girlfriend rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry; lighten up."

"What am I going to do?" The brunette sighed.

"Just give her some time," Brittany soothed. "Like I said, I know she's into you. Give her some space and she'll talk to you."

Rachel nodded and instinctively dabbed at her now dry, tired eyes.

"For the record," Santana shrugged, "I'm still a fan of the whole call-the-bitch-out idea. A brick through the window is a hell of an icebreaker."

The teacher rolled her eyes as her student aid giggled at the comment.

"She's joking," Brittany assured her.

"I should go home." Rachel yawned.

"No, you should stay the night," the blonde insisted. "We'll drive you to school tomorrow."

"But I need to change my clothes," she pointed out, hoping the excuse would get her out of there quickly without offending them.

"No worries," Santana chimed in as Brittany scurried to the bedroom to get blankets and pillows for their guest. "Maybe tomorrow we can dress you up as a full grown woman for a change."

Rachel rolled her eyes, but she was too tired to argue anymore, so she accepted the pillow Brittany handed her and reluctantly laid down on the couch.

"Thanks," she halfheartedly replied. "Goodnight."

"Oh, and the bathroom is down the hall to the left," Santana called from the hallway.

"Sleep tight," the blonde whispered softly. "It'll be ok. I'm sure she'll talk to you tomorrow."

* * *

For two weeks, Rachel had waited patiently for Quinn to be ready to talk, but the most she got from the woman was an almost convincing impression of an unaffected friend. The brunette was completely at a loss for what to do or say; she felt alien to their relationship and the only thing that kept her from wondering if their girl's-night make out session was a dream was the blonde's reluctance to be within arms reach of her. Quinn would shoot the breeze, vent, and even joke with Rachel, but there was a definite line between them the woman refused to cross. The young teacher had no idea how to break through her friend's defenses, and she desperately wanted to talk about that night.

To make matters worse, Beth had again started acting out in class, and Rachel would need to discuss that with Quinn as well. It was a different kind of acting out, however, and she was unsure of what to make of it. The brunette had been observing it for the past few days; at first it seemed like nothing more than a school yard crush. It was obvious that Beth was close to Kurt Hummel; in fact, it was quite the cute little love triangle with Finn following the little blonde around, who in turn followed the other boy's every move, who in response seemed oblivious to it all except that his brother would become cross with him. It was common enough and would probably pass quickly, but recently, things had changed. Beth acted out against anyone who dared play with Kurt, but when her crush would come to play with her, she would send him away, only to rush after him seconds later apologizing. The teacher needed the girl's mother's insight to understand what was happening—in both cases.

Beth was different in other ways as well today in particular; she was less responsive and friendly with both Rachel and Brittany. Even now, she sat at the back of the room coloring, while the teacher's aid tried to catch her attention. The pencils were in the young woman's mouth again and the brunette watched out of the corner of her eye.

In her best Quinn impersonation to date, the little girl rolled her eyes. "I know, you're a walrus." But the serious voice was forced and the corners of Beth's mouth twitched violently.

It was as though the little blonde was doing her best to be aloof and having a hard time of it at that.

Brittany looked disappointed but continued on anyway. "No, now I'm a vampire. I'm a fictional monster that drinks blood to stay alive. I do not sparkle."

Though Miss Berry was not thrilled with this new subject matter, she let it slide; clearly Beth couldn't take it any longer and began giggling. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief; her favorite student's laughter was a good sign. Yes, her favorite student, even though she didn't want to admit it; Beth was very dear to her, more dear than any of the other children she taught. It was wrong, the brunette knew she shouldn't have favorites and that teachers shouldn't single one child out as more special than the others, but that's the way things were. Miss Berry couldn't help it; even if she didn't have feelings for Miss Fabray, she probably would have felt the same about Beth. The girl was sweet, strong, and smart; there was no doubt that she would go far in life.

"I'm failing miserably." She sighed quietly to herself.

"I doubt that," Quinn said warmly from the doorway.

"Quinn," Rachel jumped, "how are you?"  
"Same as every day." the blonde shrugged. "Tired, but not quite as tired as I would be if you hadn't rescued me."

These unreadable sentences plagued the brunette; warm, friendly, playful, but confusing. She honestly didn't know whether to roll her eyes or smile.

"Are you ready, sweetie?" Miss Fabray called to her daughter.

"Ok," Beth answered reluctantly.

"Actually," Miss Berry chimed in, "I was hoping to talk to you. There is just one little issue I thought you should know about regarding Beth."

Quinn glanced back at Beth and back at the teacher. "Is it bad?"

"No, not anything to terrible, but something you might like to know about," Rachel admitted. "Or be able to shed a little light on."

The blonde checked her watch and sighed. "I have some things to do today, can it wait?"

Logically it shouldn't have surprised Rachel that Quinn had plans she didn't know about, but it made her uneasy. She forced a smile and shrugged.

"I suppose it can," Miss Berry replied.

"Thank you." Miss Fabray nodded, looking back at her daughter, who was whispering in Brittany's ear. "Beth, honey, we have to go."

"Coming," the little girl panted as she stuffed her belongings into her backpack.

Beth gave both of her teachers extra long hugs before taking Quinn's hand and skipping out of the room. Rachel followed them out the door and watched them hurry down the hallway.

"Quinn still hasn't talked to you," Brittany commented.

"No she hasn't," the brunette acknowledged.

"You have to change your plan." The blonde sighed. "I'm sorry; I just thought for sure that she would talk to you because it's so obvious that she loves you, but I guess she's more like San than I thought."

"I don't think anything of the sort is obvious," Rachel corrected. "If she liked me, a far cry from the love you claim she has for me, she would have at least acknowledged what happened by now. If she remotely cared for me, she would consider giving me some meager form of closure on the subject. As it is, she insists that we are friends, and acts as though that night were a figment of my imagination. I wish I could just give up."

"No!" Brittany yelped. "You just need a new plan and you're running out of time."

"What?" Rachel asked.

"Beth said that her mommy is going to an interview today to work at another school in another town next year," the teacher's aid explained. "That's why she's so sad and moody I bet. They might move and she's going to miss everyone."

"What!" The teacher gasped.

The thought of never seeing Quinn or Beth again physically hurt; she had been having a hard time preparing herself for the fact that she wouldn't be the little blonde's teacher next year as it was.

"Then, well," the brunette sputtered as she began to teeter into panic, "if she's running away, then what hope do I have? What can I possibly do to change that? Summer is on its way and I won't have a chance to see Quinn; who knows when she planning to actually move."

"I think it's time for San's plan," Brittany said gravely. "Just, um, maybe without the bricks."

* * *

As Miss Berry waved goodbye to Beth and Puck, she took in a deep breath and prepared herself for the task at hand. The walk to the teachers' lounge seemed like a mile, and once she was inside, she put on her game-face. The door to the faculty bathroom was open and the brunette could see Quinn freshening her makeup in the mirror. Rachel leaned in the doorway and spoke casually.

"Any big plans for this fine Friday evening?" She hummed. "Beth's with her father; that must free you up for something exciting."

The blonde looked partly confused and slightly amused as she shrugged.

"I have an inter—" Quinn stopped herself. "An appointment in a few hours. Then I'll just be running errands like any other weekend."

"An inter-appointment?" the brunette asked coolly.

Miss Fabray rolled her eyes and slid her eye liner back into its case.

"This is ridiculous," Rachel said sharply. "If you have an interview for another job then just tell me. If you're moving away, or running away more like it, just tell me. We are adults; we don't need to dance around the issue. I simply have no more patience for this high school foolishness. What I need is closure on the subject. So, if you are so disgusted by what happened just say so."

"What happened?" Quinn was beginning to show the first signs of panic, but she kept her voice steady. "You aren't making any sense, Rachel; of course I'm not disgusted by you. You're my friend—my best friend."

"Oh really?" Miss Berry countered. "Then why not simply tell me that you're looking into a new job? That you're planning to move to a different town? That seems like a thing that best friends would discuss at one point or another. Why are you suddenly keeping your distance from me?"

Miss Fabray shifted her eyes uncomfortably as she toyed with her makeup bag. "I didn't mention it because it is not a sure thing and because you worked so hard to get me this job in the first place. I didn't want to upset you for no reason; if it fell through, then what would it matter?" Quinn crossed her arms as the brunette stared her down. "And I don't know what you are talking about me keeping my distance; I talk to you every day."

The teacher stepped forward and the blonde took a step back; Rachel made a sweeping gesture to indicate 'that'.

"Because I'm giving you room to step into the bathroom?" Quinn scoffed, but her expression faltered when the brunette grabbed her hand.

They were still for a moment before Miss Fabray began squeezing past her, but when Quinn reached the doorway, Rachel still hadn't let go of her hand.

"I need to get my things out of my locker," the blonde snapped.

"And I need you to talk this through with me," the brunette insisted loudly. "Because you cannot argue that I have been more than patient in waiting for you to be ready to discuss it."

She gripped her friend's hand tightly and narrowed her eyes; she couldn't afford to back down now.

"It was a mistake, ok?" Quinn yelled. "It doesn't have to be a big deal."

"Alright, it was a mistake," Rachel replied, a little hurt. "Then why is it changing everything?"

"Because I liked it!" The blonde snapped, obviously wishing she could take it back, but it was too late for that.

Rachel had prepared herself for what she thought was every possibility, but she hadn't considered that response. Miss Fabray took the opportunity to yank her hand free and head for her locker. Miss Berry followed her closely, afraid to let her get away now. She was scared by how giddy she felt.

"Well, if it's any consolation," Rachel breathed, "I quite enjoyed it as well."

"It's not," Quinn replied sourly.

"Why?" the brunette flared. "If you weren't disgusted by it and it wasn't awful, then why are you being like this? Do you think I'm trying to force you into some sort of relationship? Because I would never—I don't want you thinking you have to be with me if you didn't want—"

"I do want," the blonde spat, "that's the problem. Do you think this is easy for me? You think I wanted any of this? I didn't even—I never thought—how could I have not known that I am gay? How am I supposed to deal with that? I can't have a relationship like this; it's not fair to Beth."

"Don't do that," Rachel pitched. "Don't use Beth as some sort of excuse to not deal with this just because you're confused. I'm confused too, but I have to deal with it. How exactly is your refusal to ever date again helping Beth in any way whatsoever?"

"You know what I'm talking about," Miss Fabray hissed. "You told me yourself how hard it was for you growing up."

"And I told you that I survived it," Miss Berry pointed out. "But you are getting a little ahead of yourself don't you think? I'm not exactly here begging to you date me, Quinn; I'm merely asking that we speak about this rationally so that we can both gain some insight and closure. I need to tell you what it meant to me so that I can get over it so that we can be real friends again. So that we could spend time together without things being awkward between us; I'm not trying to make anything like that happen again."

"But I would want it to," Quinn yelled before slamming her locker shut and speaking more quietly. "If we spent time together I would want to let it happen again, and I would want—I'd want—"

"What is going on in here?" a gruff voice sounded as Principle Zizes slammed the door open.

The woman was intimidating when she was being pleasant; her bellowing voice made her terrifying and both women found themselves instinctively facing her with their heads down, like guilty children caught in the act.

"Sorry that we disturbed you Miss Zizes," Quinn mumbled.

"I could hear the ruckus all the way in the gym," the principle continued. "And I don't like to be disturbed when I'm exercising. It takes concentration to keep my perfect curves. I thought I was going to have to bust out my high school wrestling moves to break this up. Am I going to have to make the two of you hug-it-out?"

Rachel rushed out the first explanation that came to mind. "It's my fault. I was simply blowing off some steam by reenacting a phone call I received from a parent the other night. Quinn was only playing along and I suppose we got too carried away. It won't happen again."

She sincerely hoped that Lauren hadn't understood too much of what they had been yelling at each other because if so, the ill thought out lie would fall apart quickly. The woman glanced between them, her round face unreadable, before she shrugged.

"These parents throw bigger fits than their damned kids." Miss Zizes laughed. "I sometimes picture their faces when I'm pounding my punching bag. Saves their ass every time."

They both breathed a sigh of relief as Principle Zizes turned to leave the room.

"Might have actually been interesting to see you two string beans throw down," the imposing woman mused as she closed the door.

Rachel and Quinn laughed uncomfortably.

"Who knew you were such a good liar?" the blonde commented as she checked her purse.

The door opened again and Lauren popped her head back inside. "Oh and Berry, I'll need to talk to you about the summer fund raisers after my workout."

Miss Berry nodded and the door closed again; both their faces were beet red as they listened to the woman's footsteps retreating. Rachel knew she had lost her edge and she sighed as she collected her things and resigned herself to the fact that she very well may never get the conversation that she wanted. She plopped down dejectedly at one of the tables as she watched the blonde head for the door.

"Come by my house tonight," Quinn said nervously. "You're right; we do need to talk about this."

With that, the door to the teachers' lounge closed behind Miss Fabray and Rachel could do nothing more but sit at the table blinking as a smile spread across her face.

* * *

Rachel stood outside Quinn's apartment rethinking every decision she had made between being invited there and now. Was her shirt to low cut, her skit too short? Should she have worn her hair up instead of down and loose? Had she put on too much makeup or not have put on her favorite perfume? Was she trying too hard? Now the brunette was thinking the answer was probably yes to all. Miss Berry reminded herself that this was not a date and that it probably wouldn't end well. Still, it didn't hurt to put her best foot forward. She knocked lightly at the door.

Quinn's hair was up in a high ponytail—that was the first thing Rachel noticed—secondly the brunette realized she was blushing despite promising herself that she wouldn't. She tried to read the other woman's expression, but by now, she knew it was foolish to trust Quinn's smiling face, so she began searching for any other signs. Mentally, she checked off that Miss Fabray was in a form fitting tank top, her make up was fresh, and the house had obviously just been cleaned and tidied as the blonde lead her inside. She also noted that Beth's mother was wearing Capri pants, wasn't making much eye contact, and Rachel didn't detect any perfume like scents. Rachel sat down on the couch with a sigh and realized she would have to proceed without any hint as to what might happen.

"Thanks for coming over," Quinn said carefully.

"Thank you for inviting me over," Rachel replied.

"Ok, so," the blonde began slowly, "we just need to talk this out rationally and sober."

"Agreed." The brunette nodded.

She wondered if she truly could dissect her feelings without becoming emotional again, but she would try.

Three minutes later, neither of them had spoken and Quinn groaned.

"I think you should start," Miss Fabray stated.

Rachel wasn't sure where to start; it felt unfair that she would be the one laying it all on the line, but it might be her only chance.

"You are," she started shakily, "a wonderful person, Quinn, and one of the strongest women I've ever met. I do not regret what happened between us with the exception that it had damaged our friendship. Also, it was not something I had planned or intended to happen when I came over to spend time with you. Like you, it wasn't something I had realized about myself until I met you. From the moment we met, it was apparent that you were important to me; perhaps I should have realized then, but I did not. Looking back on it, I should have noticed that I was drawn to you from the start. So when you kissed me, I was momentarily shocked, but I will admit that kissing you woke something inside me that I didn't know was there and I liked it. I don't, however, want that moment to ruin our friendship. I want you in my life and I want Beth in my life, because you are both very dear to me."

There was one last thing to say, but Rachel held her tongue; she felt naked enough as it was so she waited with her hands folded in her lap for Quinn to respond.

"I was wrong not to talk to you about it," the blonde replied. "But I just shut down. People are always talking behind my back, even to my face, about how I got pregnant in high school—I even look down on myself about it sometimes. Then I—kissed you—and I became so fucking scared. I like to think of myself as open minded, but when I realized that I-I felt for you more than I ever did for any of the boys I toyed with before, I just couldn't. I couldn't stand to accept it and let that be one more thing whispered and laughed about when I wasn't listening. I know you think I use Beth as an excuse to hide, maybe that's true sometimes, but you know those rumors get to her one way or another. I don't want that for her, either."

Miss Berry nodded and remained silent even though her mind flew with arguments.

"I don't know what to do, Rachel," Quinn admitted.

It was time to take that final plunge; Rachel closed her eyes and spoke quickly. "I am fairly certain that I may be in love with you, but I can try to let that go so that we can be friends. Even if that means you still want to switch jobs—or move—and we only communicate over the phone and Facebook until you know what you want to do."

"I don't think I can be friends with you, Rachel," Miss Fabray said softly.

She kept her eyes squeezed shut and bit down on her bottom lip; the blonde's words hurt worse than she'd ever imagined. She groped for her purse and she felt Quinn's hand fall softly on top of hers.

"I don't know if I could be just friends with you," the blonde repeated. "It would be too hard for me, but I'm too scared of what would happen if things went badly. I'm scared of what it would do to me and I'm scared of what it would do to Beth. She loves you so much."

"I love Beth too," Rachel choked.

"So if I fucked this up," Quinn said huskily, "then we would all end up heart broken."

Rachel knew it was true because her chest felt dangerously heavy and she suddenly felt like she needed to escape.

"We might not fudge this up," the brunette stammered. "We could take things slowly and carefully."

Quinn didn't answer as she retracted her hand; Rachel opened her eyes and a few tears made their way down her cheeks.

"Alright," she sighed drying, "alright, this is what I asked for. Closure. I will leave you alone; I'm going to hug you now and then I will leave."

Quinn stepped forward and allowed Rachel to wrap her arms around her slowly; the brunette rested her chin on the other woman's shoulder and wiped her eyes quickly.

"Ok," Miss Berry said as calmly as she could. "I'll respect your decision and I'll leave you alone from now on. Perhaps that is best; it was ridiculous to think I could stop feeling this way about you. You're a very special person, Quinn, don't forget that."

She let her arms fall slack as she turned away from the blonde and focused all her energy on making it out the door without sobbing. The pain she felt was absolute; it was enough to make her insane—it must have been because she was considering driving to Brittany's and Santana's house. A few short steps forward, she felt a tugging on her hand; she jerked her hand, but before she knew it, she was being dragged back and swung around, back into Quinn's arms

Rachel didn't protest as Quinn wrapped her arms around her and pressed their lips together roughly. She parted her lips as the other woman's tongue slid along her bottom lip. The blonde's knees seemed to buckle as the brunette sucked on her tongue and Rachel found herself being pulled to the floor. After wanting to talk so desperately, she found herself hoping for silence and forcing the questions out of her mind. Quinn crawled on top of her and continued to kiss her aggressively as her hands began to explore the contours of the brunette's neck. Rachel's arms were splayed limply on the carpet, but as Quinn's fingers began trailing beyond her collar bones, they found themselves quickly fixed to the woman's sides. As the blonde's lips began shifting to her neck, the brunette felt the warmth of her hands slip over her stomach, under her shirt; she followed suit by tugging up on the tank top and letting her palms graze lightly over the hot smooth skin of Quinn's back. The blonde seemed suddenly more desperate and the brunette's top was shifted up over her bra. Rachel rolled her head back and her body arched as Quinn took hold of her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat as one of the blonde's hands traced down the length of her body and gripped the skin of her inner thigh before gliding up under her skirt.

"We—we should—talk." She gasped out as she inwardly cursed.

"No, we don't," Quinn responded. "I already know I can't let you go."

As the warm, eager hand came to rest against her panties, Rachel bit her lip and willed herself to remain silent. They should be taking things slow, but the only thing that felt slow to her were the soft circles the blonde's fingers were making over her womanhood and she didn't want to stop her. Quinn slid the fabric aside and stroked her wet heat gently before dipping a finger gently into her. Rachel arched and rocked her body forward slightly, relishing the friction of the movement, and Quinn entered her deeper. The brunette wrapped her legs around the blonde's back and propped herself up a little on her elbows; she stared into the woman's hazel eyes and let herself become lost in the feeling spreading through her body. Quinn was right, they didn't need to talk; it was obvious as she gazed, unblinking at Rachel that for all their reasons they would never be able to give each other up. Miss Fabray's pupils dilated, the color of the now thin iris shifting colors ever so slightly, as Rachel's body clenched and a tingling feeling of release filled the teacher's body.

Rachel dropped back on her back and relished the feeling as it rippled through her body with every pulse of center; she tugged the other woman forward and the blonde rested her head on her chest. Quinn was crying, but for once, Rachel knew exactly why, and she wasn't worried. She wanted to touch the blonde so badly, but she knew she would need to take things slowly with her. For now, it was enough that Quinn rested in her arms and they both knew where they stood with each other.

"It's ok," Rachel breathed as she stroked the girl's back. "I have no intention of letting you go."

* * *

Beth stood in front of the classroom and took a deep breath as her new teacher, Mr. Ryerson, half heartedly tried to quiet the class. She didn't like him very well, but she was excited to complete the first school week's assignment—What I Did This Summer. The little blonde huffed and stomped her foot when her classmates didn't listen to her and started again.

"What I did this summer," Beth called loudly. "This summer was the best summer ever. My daddy took me to a rock concert, and my aunt Abi got me my own makeup kit and nail polish. I got to go swimming most of the time and daddy says he is going to get a pool of his own soon so I will get to swim even more and all my friends will be allowed to come unless they piss me off."

Mr. Ryerson cleared his throat loudly and the kids in class giggled.

"Bottom," she corrected herself, causing more peals of laughter from her classmates. "Do you want to swim in my pool or not? Stop laughing or I'll be bottomed off at you and you can't come over."

The other children stopped and sat up straight; Beth smiled, feeling very triumphant.

"And I made a lot of new friends; Auntie San, Auntie Britt, Lord Tubbington, and Holly. Holly is dad's girlfriend, but Aunt San calls her his squeeze, and I like seeing them together because daddy doesn't seem so sad anymore. Holly has a puppy and I got to play with him whenever I want, but I can't pronounce his name. Britt and San promised me a kitten, but mommy and Rachel say we have to talk about it. I think that means I'm getting it for my birthday. Rachel came over every day to see me and mommy—she is my favorite person besides mommy.

The best thing about the whole summer is that every Sunday we had a picnic with our whole family. Rachel and Mommy would wake me up early and we would meet Grandma P, Daddy, Abi, and Holly at the park and spend the whole day playing. I have the best family in the whole wide world and that's why my summer was the best summer ever. The End."

As Beth took her bow she caught a glimpse of Rachel and Quinn peeking in the door from the hallway. Their hands laced together as she hurried back to her chair and sat down. Finn was up next and the little blonde rolled her eyes and sighed; she glanced back at the classroom door and saw Rachel place a light kiss on her mother's cheek before Mr. Ryerson barked out her name. She could hear her them scampering down the hall as she crossed her arms and thought _I'm gonna go all Lima Heights on Mr. Ryerson just like San taught me_, but she was too happy to stay angry for long.

_I have the best family in the whole wide world,_ Beth thought to herself again before forcing her attention back to the boy at the front of the room.

* * *

**So yeah, more of the same: Tumblr/Wordpress, vote, and then sit back and wait for Shutter to post and the end of May. **

**Questions? Suggestions? You know what to do: review or PM. Fair warning though; if you have a suggestion/issue/critique for me and I have no way of asking for any clarification of said suggestion/issue/critique then I can't do much with it. I'm not going to yell, attempt to punish, or throw fits over a negative review or some advice that I don't like (and unless anything major were to happen in my RL I'm not going to stop); but if I can't say "oh do you mean this?" or** **"which part in particular?" then I'm not going to know for sure what you mean. That's how my brain works.**

** *Shrug* Anyway! Hope you all enjoyed Chalk and hope you enjoy the next one as well. Let me know what you think.  
**


	5. Shutter

**Fifth Installment. All artists strive to capture beauty; photographer Rachel Berry is no exception. So when her big chance finally comes, she won't settle for less than perfection. Model Quinn Fabray fits the bill, but as her work progresses, Rachel finds herself struggling to find the deeper beauty behind Quinn's perfect face.**

**Professions - Shutter - Photographer/Model**

**Ok so to state the obvious, this story is way shorter than the rest, that's how the month panned out for me. Thanks to everyone for all your comments and support. **

* * *

**Shutter**

* * *

As the intercom buzzed, Rachel hurried out of her darkroom and pressed the call button.

"I'm buzzing you in. Can you pick up a package for me at the front desk before you come up?" she asked anxiously.

"Alright, I'll grab it on my way up," her friend responded, slightly out of breath. "What's the emergen—"

Rachel released the button and hummed to herself; she quickly rushed back to close the door to the small bedroom she had converted to process her photography and then set to pacing the large living area as she waited for her guest to arrive. Blaine barely had a chance to knock before the petite brunette yanked the door open and beckoned him inside quickly; she grabbed the thick envelope from him as he stepped past her.

"What is so urgent? I ran half of the way here." Blaine panted as she tore open the parcel and held up a catalogue.

For a moment her friend looked angry, but soon realization dawned on his face. "You mean?"

"Yes!" Rachel cheered. "I got the Hummel Resort and Spa job and now you have to help me choose the perfect model for the shoot!"

"So mysterious Mr. K. Hummel finally made up his mind?" Blaine chuckled. "It's about time."

"Indeed," the petite girl nodded back, "I was afraid they had passed up my proposal for that charlatan, Azimio, but they called me this morning to notify me. I hope you appreciate the restraint I demonstrated by not calling you until you were finished at work."

"When did the agency send over the headshots?" he asked knowingly.

"Half an hour ago," she replied sheepishly. "But that does not diminish my efforts to conceal my excitement."

Blaine smiled at her and laughed; while it was true that she had only waited close to half an hour, she still felt she deserved a little credit for not calling him the second that she had found out she would be the one putting together the new look of Hummel Resort and Spa. In all honestly the petite photographer nearly had but managed to stop herself when she realized that she would need to find a modeling agency and procure a catalogue in order to get to work on her new project. Then there had been so many other calls to make—to her fathers, to her current job to get the time off she would need, to her favorite professor from college, and then to the owner of the resort after she received her e-mail with all the details.

"They never would have gone with Azimio," Blaine commented offhandedly. "His work is nothing but glorified pin-ups."

"Well, that sort of thing does sell," she shrugged, "and he has more experience publicly. I'm so incredibly glad that Mr. Hummel agreed with me that a more artistic, thoughtful approach was better."

Blaine patted her on the back as she led him over to the couch; Rachel rested the catalogue on the coffee table and clasped her hands together.

"Oh, you should see the budget they gave me, it's all so exciting I don't even know where to begin," she chattered. "They want a gallery showing before the ad campaign goes public. You remember the Dalton Gallery? They turned us both down last year; that's where it will be held. This is going to open up so many doors, Blaine, and if it goes well enough, I'll never be stuck taking horridly dull family portraits again."

Her friend eyed her nervously. "You didn't quit already, did you?"

"No," Rachel huffed, "I know that I can be impulsive at times, but I didn't go that far. I simply requested a few of the vacations I've never taken over the past few years."

This seemed to calm him and he chuckled. "How will they ever manage without you?"

Blaine's teasing didn't escape her, but she chose to reply seriously, "Rory is actually quite good and seems to actually enjoy it. So I suggested they let him step in for me; after allm he has been my assistant for over a year, and if I absolutely have to go back, I trust him not to try to steal my position in the mean time."

Her friend tilted the catalogue slightly. "Sue C's Talent?"

Rachel straightened the thick magazine out and her hands shook with nervous excitement.

"I could have afforded to go with a larger, well known agency but I really would prefer to use a model that is as yet mostly undiscovered." Rachel explained. "And the manager was quite forceful over the phone and she promised she would send a becky over to deliver it before the day was out. Is that a manager term of some kind that I am unaware of? A becky?"

Blaine shrugged. "It's probably her assistant's name, Becky."

"Well that makes the garbled argument over the intercom earlier much clearer," she gasped, her cheeks turning a little red. "In my defense, the person was panting heavily and you know how damaged the outside call box is. I couldn't understand half a word of what was being said and I assumed it was the neighborhood children playing pranks again. I'll have to remember to call Miss Sylvester and apologize for not letting her assistant inside."

"So do I finally get to hear about the top secret proposal you sent in with your application?" he asked, resting back on the couch.

"Well," Rachel began, "the ad itself will be pretty basic, of course, for billboards and magazines, but their website will have the full concept and I love that they were open to a more gallery quality story line. I'm calling it 'Bring Out Your Goddess'. It will slowly transition a woman from the loud, dirty, suffocating city out into nature and tranquility. The owner seemed very eager to have a gallery showing for his V.I.P customers."

"Sounds great." Blaine nodded.

"You know, Mr. K. Hummel did mention that he is interested in revamping the resort's current artwork," she said lightly. "I may have mentioned that I know quite the talented artist who might be up to the challenge. Perhaps I will introduce you at the opening."

Her friend grinned. "Always looking out for me, huh?"

"Well, we are artists; we have to stick together while we starve, correct?" The photographer sighed. "And all you have to do in order to repay me is help me find a goddess."

"Are you looking for just classic beauty?" Blaine asked. "Or is there something specific I should keep my eye out for?"

"Beauty is a given, I imagine, but I want more than that," she clarified. "When I think goddess, I'm thinking strength, warmth, kindness, confidence, etcetera. In short, we are looking for someone who exudes divine."

"Piece of cake." He laughed.

Rachel knew, for the most part, what she was looking for, but she was still a bundle of nerves. She'd never worked with a modeling agency before; in college she had used clubs around campus and her roommates to complete her photography coursework. Any project she had worked on since then she had used family and friends if she needed a subject for the shoot. So, flipping through an actual catalogue as though she were picking out furniture was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Rachel handed Blaine a handful of bookmarks prepared to start their first sweep through the head shots. She wanted to make the first pass through the book quick, relying on gut instinct and then they would be able to focus on the models they had bookmarked in greater detail on the second pass. Soon, they had a steady rhythm going; flip, glance, pass, flip, glance, pass, flip, glance, mark, and so on. Suddenly, Rachel stopped on a page and Blaine waited for her to indicate pass or mark with bookmark poised in hand.

"Her," she said breathlessly.

"Okay, mark." He nodded as he tucked the bright pink slip into place.

"No, I mean," Rachel replied certainly. "Her. She's the one."

"We aren't even done with our first scan of the catalogue, Rachel." Blaine chuckled.

"We don't need to finish,' she insisted, "just look at her."

He studied the model's photos and nodded. "She is elegant."

"She's perfect," Rachel breathed as she read the name at the top of the page. "Quinn Fabray."

"She'll still be perfect once we've looked at them all, you know," Blaine pointed out.

"Then why bother to keep looking?" the photographer shot back.

"Because this is a big decision and you need to weigh all the options," her friend reasoned as he took the catalogue from her hands. "You yourself said that you want divinity beyond beauty."

"Well they are all beautiful," Rachel huffed, "but—"

Blaine flipped back to the first girl they had marked. "If you're looking for kindness; this one, Brittany, you can see warmth in her eyes and she's beautiful, but not intimidating so."

The brunette shook her head. "No, something's missing with her."

"Santana," he continued to the next marked model, "practically oozes confidence; you said that strength needed to be a factor as well."

Rachel scoffed. "She looks too harsh."

"Maybe you should consider using more than one model for the shoot," Blaine suggested. "It's something to consider."

"Why are you so against Quinn?" the girl demanded as she pulled the book back and turned back to the girl's page. "Look at her. She's what every woman wants to be. She's a dream; how can you not see that?"

"She looks closed off to me." he shrugged. "She's classic, but her eyes don't look fully committed in the photos."

"You're being ridiculous," Rachel laughed, "she looks perfectly happy in this one. As for some of the other photos I would need her to look lost or confused to work the narrative correctly."

They stared each other down of a moment before he shrugged; Rachel smiled triumphantly. It wasn't that she needed his approval, but she wanted him to see things her way.

"I'll call Miss Sylvester tomorrow morning," she said cheerfully. "I cannot believe the woman doesn't have a website or email address; she seems eccentric to say the least, but I wanted obscure I suppose."

As she discarded the bookmarks and set the catalogue aside, she could see that Blaine looked a little disgruntled. Rachel smacked him on the leg and gave him a sharp look.

"We should be celebrating." She pouted, which only gained her a lopsided smile from her friend. "Oh, of course, I appreciate your input—I do, otherwise I wouldn't have waited for you to arrive to look. Don't be cross with me. This is a big deal for me, and if I can help it, for you as well. I'll have connections soon and I obviously intend to share them with you; you're the only friend I have in the city, real friend I mean, besides work acquaintances."

"I'm not being cross with you," Blaine assured her. "I'm just doing the worrying for you for now, so that when the excitement wears off and you begin to agonize over everything, I'll be ready to cheer you on during every midnight phone call that I get."

He gave her a quick wink as she gave him one last pout before smiling.

"So you agree with my choice?" Rachel tested.

"You know what you're looking for," he shrugged and gave her knowing look, "I'm just not sure you were looking with only your art-mind."

The photographer bristled a little. "And what exactly are you implying?"

"That you haven't been on a date in a long time and so you might be a tad eager to be in close quarters with a goddess of your very own," Blaine answered lightly.

Rachel stood with a huff and slid back one of the decorative screens that separated the 'living room' from the 'bedroom' she had constructed. It was a sacrifice she had made so that she could have her darkroom, but since she didn't entertain too often, it wasn't all bad.

"I'm going to ignore that implication," she called from behind the screen as she changed into the dress she had picked out earlier. "I was thinking Karofsky's or Warblers' to celebrate. Do you have a preference?"

"Karofsky's," Blaine answered quickly. "I love the atmosphere of Warblers', but I cannot stand the owner, Smythe, and he always insists on chatting us up."

"You're right," Rachel chimed as she stepped back out from behind the screens. "It's classier, but I do prefer the warmer tone of Karofsky's and their prices are more reasonable. And the waiters don't sneer at me when I order vegetarian and comment 'of course you do' under their breath."

She paused at the coffee table and flipped the book open once more to Quinn's page and sighed. The woman on the page was perfect for her concept, but Blaine's remark had hit a nerve. Still, she reasoned, the thought hadn't even entered her mind until her friend made that offhanded comment, and so she closed the book and felt secure in her decision.

"Definitely the perfect choice," Rachel stated confidently as she took Blaine's arm and headed for the door.

* * *

Quinn listened to static crackle over the intercom as she waited for a response; she double checked the work order her manager had given her to be sure she was at the right address and apartment number before pressing the call button a second time. The blonde fussed with her hair in the reflection of the double doors and checked her nails. Quinn was becoming frustrated with the wait; she had a garment bag slung over her shoulder and a large envelope tucked under her arm—she just wanted to get inside and let the juggling act be over.

"Hello," a voice finally fizzled out of the much abused box.

"Quinn Fabray for Rachel Berry," she chimed lightly as she pressed the call button again.

Quinn flinched at the harsh buzzer as the front doors unlocked and let herself in; as she passed the front desk, she ignored the grotesque woman behind the counter.

"You should fix that call box," she commented over her shoulder as she stepped onto the elevator.

"My renters out'ta pay on time and I would, but they're all artists, god love 'em," the woman behind the counter answered gruffly as the doors closed behind the blonde. "Watch your tone with me missy! You crap on my leg, I'll cut it off!"

Quinn laughed to herself as she breezed down the hall and knocked on the door; she was relieved when she saw that the apartments themselves looked presentable—small, but clean and well finished.

"Your landlord is a character, to say the least," she commented when the door opened.

The blonde stepped inside quickly and let the woman take the garment bag from her before holding out her hand. "Quinn Fabray. And you must be Rachel Berry."

The brunette looked slightly awestruck, but Quinn was used to that, and took her hand softly with a nod.

"You're early," Rachel stammered. "I wasn't expecting you for another half hour."

"Sue's models are model citizens," the blonde chimed lightly with a shrug.

The woman smiled and offered her a seat as she hung the bag on a screen. "Yes, the landlord can be a bit…rough around the edges, but she means well."

"So, what is this shoot all about?" Quinn asked.

The brunette's eyebrows knit together for a second as she took a seat. "I sent Miss Sylvester a full outline. Didn't she discuss it with you?"

The blonde laughed and shook her head. "Sue is not an ask-if-it's-ok kind of woman. Oh, I have the contract with me, all signed except for your signature."

"But how can you be sure that you are willing to model for the shoot when you don't even know what it involves?" Rachel faltered, which only made Quinn laugh again. "Of course, it doesn't involve any nudity or anything so vulgar as that. What I mean is—don't you consider what sort of—does she tell you what the shoots are for at all?"

"Nope." Quinn shrugged.

"Ah, well," the brunette sighed, "then I will tell you that this is an ad campaign for a resort and spa. As I said before, you won't be required to be nude, but we will be shooting at several locations, some of which are out of town. There will be a gallery showing that you will be expected to attend before the advertisements become public and you are expected to maintain secrecy on anything having to do with the project."

She thought it was cute the way the photographer was babbling on and she tried to keep the smirk off of her face. Work was work and truth be told, nude wasn't a problem for her, and if Miss Sylvester had accepted the contract then she would be expected to fulfill it, but it was nice, for once, that she wasn't being talked to like an accessory. Quinn was used to being treated as a piece of furniture or a clothes hanger; it was refreshing that Rachel seemed so concerned that she be happy with the situation.

"I'm sure that will all be fine." She nodded.

"Plus," Rachel added, "You will get to experience some of the business's services for the shoot. A free massage never hurt, right?"

"Right." Quinn chuckled as she slid the contract closer to the other woman.

The blonde watched as the photographer flipped through the document and signed her name; she stifled a giggled as the girl drew a little star next to her signature every time. _Artists_, she thought to herself.

"Alright," Rachel breathed as she slipped the contract back into its envelope, "well, I see that your manager sent you with the clothing selections I made."

Quinn leaned back on the couch and listened to the brief, according to the photographer, description of the concept she would be expected to emulate for the shoots. As Rachel detailed all of her hopes and aspirations for each of the five settings as well as the gallery showing, the blonde let her mind wander slightly. While she listened, her eyes scanned the apartment. There wasn't much to see; the living room took up most of the space. From the look of the little hallway, the bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen must be miniscule at best. The blonde caught herself studying the woman in front of her—the way Rachel spoke with her whole body, her hands gesturing constantly when they weren't busy brushing back her dark hair, her knee's bobbing slightly with excitement or nerves, and the intensity of the brunette's facial expressions and eyes. Quinn shifted uncomfortably when she realized she had focused her hazel eyes on the woman's mouth for far too long and cleared her throat.

"Sounds like you have high hopes for this," she stated. "I hope I don't disappoint you—I'm no goddess—I'm not perfect."

"Well no one is," Rachel sputtered, "but it's what we all want to be, and that's what Hummel Resort and Spa is trying to sell. We all aspire to find something more within ourselves or at the very least we wish to find someone who sees perfection in us, and if I'm not being too bold—you, Quinn Fabray, are precisely the goal millions of women strive for. The public will love and envy you. Everyone will want to know who Quinn Fabray is, I guarantee."

"Wonderful," Quinn remarked sarcastically. "It'll be like high school again."

"Pardon?" the brunette asked, her head tilting and eyebrows knitting together once again.

"It's nothing," the blonde shrugged, "I guess I've just always been a model in one way or another."

"Do you have an objection to the concept?" Rachel asked anxiously.

"No," Quinn answered quickly as she shook her head and stood up. "Where is the first location?"

The photographer checked her watch and gasped. "Oh dear, I talked for too long; we are a tad behind schedule, but that shouldn't be a problem. The first location is here, well the surrounding area of the building. The landlord was kind enough to give me permission to use the premises for free and it's certainly congested with enough traffic for our needs. I merely need to collect my equipment and to get you into the first of the wardrobe."

The blonde grabbed the garment bag. "Where do I change?"

"Just behind the screen will be fine; it's the bedroom. I'll be in the darkroom getting supplies from the closet," the brunette answered as she disappeared around the corner.

Quinn unzipped the bag and laid out the clothing Sue had sent over with her; it was mostly business attire, though some of the sets were haggard and warn. One of the outfits was threadbare and stained. The blonde shrugged to herself as she slipped into the multi-piece light grey suit, careful not to disturb her hair, which was pinned up, in the process. She was trying not to think about the effect Rachel's words had on her; she knew that models were adored, desired, and envied, but her experience with all of that had begun long before she decided to pursue it as a career. In high school, even before that, everyone would do anything she said; they all wanted to be near her, be like her, and every single one of them thought that they knew her. Every girl had hated her because she could have anyone she wanted, they thought, but they all followed her every order blindly—but they didn't know Quinn Fabray. The blonde felt that she had always made her living by people wanting and not having her, but it worked. Quinn slipped on the uncomfortable heels that completed the first outfit and berated herself for not paying more attention when Rachel had been talking.

She could hear the photographer shuffling around the living room and stepped out from behind the screens. "I'm ready, though I might need to touch up my makeup."

Rachel stared at her for a second before stepping in close to study her face; Quinn held her breath as the photographer's fingers grazed waistline of her skirt. She tensed and stared down at brunette with wide eyes. Rachel tugged lightly at the shirt to loosen it slightly and stepped back.

"No, you won't need to worry about makeup just yet," the petite woman assured her. "You should look as though you have just finished a long day of work. In fact, we may need to smudge your makeup slightly."

The brunette grabbed a tissue and stepped forward again, reaching up to blot away some of the product, and the blonde giggled as the woman fussed about her being too perfect.

"There," Rachel chimed, "that should do it."

"Do I look hideous enough now?" Quinn teased.

"I wouldn't go that far." The brunette chuckled back.

* * *

On the street, people seemed nearly oblivious to their activities; everyone seemed so busy that Quinn had very little acting to do. While people pressed around her, she certainly felt tired and smothered; some of them actually bumped into her roughly without bothering to apologize. Rachel called after them with little success and gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Don't apologize," Quinn snapped before the brunette could speak. "This is the concept, right? You're getting your shots."

"I merely wish people weren't so crass," the photographer replied. "I have most of what I need from the street; you should head into the alleyway now. Just—slowly—and go."

Quinn doubted that Rachel had all the shots she had planned for; the petite woman had been every bit as jostled around as she had been by the crowd. The blonde had a sneaking feeling that the photographer was going easy on her. The whirling clatter of the camera came to a stop and Rachel nodded.

"Good," the brunette assured her. "Now only one last set of pictures for this round. Though, they might take a while to get right; the emotion I am looking for is very particular."

The blonde nodded and watched as Rachel hurried across the open area behind the building and began moving some patio furniture carefully. Her hazel eyes followed the woman's movements as she circled the empty space slowly; Quinn could feel her cheeks coloring and turned her attention back down the alleyway to the people still shuffling by like a living wall of rudeness. She was warring with herself; the brunette was having a strange effect on her—more so than she'd ever dealt with from anyone. Quinn felt both drawn and repelled by Rachel and it was maddening. The blonde watched as the photographer placed bounce cards around the lot and studied their affect before letting out a satisfied sigh.

"Alright," Rachel called, "we are ready to shoot. Sorry that I kept you waiting. I've been protecting this little gem for a week, and luckily no one really uses this area because of the horrendous noise from the street."

"What is that?" Quinn asked without moving from her spot.

"I had the good fortune to stumble upon this little sprout not long after I began searching for locations to shoot; it happens to look very similar to the Spa's logo," the brunette explained as she lay down behind the little green sliver and angled the camera up at the blonde. "Now try to give me intrigue and curiosity, like you don't know what you are looking at but you want—no need—to know more about it."

"That should be easy," she responded lightly as she began to strike a pose.

* * *

Rachel was eager to begin developing the day's photos, but she also wanted to entertain her guest, so she patiently rested her camera on the desk in her darkroom and closed the door behind her.

"I'll only be a moment," she called down the short hallway. "I just need to wash my hands."

"No problem," Quinn responded from the living room.

Rachel felt giddy; today's shoot had gone so well and the blonde seemed very capable and genuine. The brunette had no doubt that she had made the right choice. Rachel hummed to herself in the mirror as she tidied up and wondered what the odds were that Quinn would be open to a date after this was all said and done. Of course, she wouldn't ask her until the project was over and the contract was finished, but that didn't mean she couldn't attempt to sew the seeds now—delicately, of course. She blushed and shook her head; it was a silly thought and Blaine would tease her relentlessly if he knew what she was thinking right now. Still, she couldn't help but think it; after all, Quinn was beautiful and seemed nice—the blonde even seemed somewhat interested in her. Rachel hadn't missed the way her hazel eyes seemed to always be on her, but perhaps that was only wishful thinking. The photographer was well aware that she had a tendency to flights of fancy, but she was sure that she was receiving some sort of vibes from the model. At any rate, Rachel could worry about all that later; maybe she would ask Quinn out at the gallery showing. By then she would have a much better idea of where they both stood and it wouldn't seem inappropriate. With that, she squared her shoulders and checked her hair one last time before leaving the bathroom.

"Sorry for the delay; are you planning to stay long or—" Rachel rambled as she padded down the hallway and skidded to a stop in the living room. "What are you doing?"

Quinn looked up from a stack of portfolios and gave her a sly smile. "Looking over everything you've ever done. Do you mind?"

Rachel chewed her lower lip for a second and then shook her head. "No, of course not."

"These are really good," the blonde breathed as she continued to flip through her private collection. "How many jobs like this have you had?"

"This is my first professional 'gig'," the brunette admitted, complete with air quotes. "I've been working at a portrait studio, but hopefully this will jumpstart my career into something much more fulfilling."

Her brown eyes followed Quinn's fingers as she gently closed the book and reached for the next portfolio. She couldn't help but feel a little proud that the model did, in fact, seem interested in her—or at least her work. Rachel drew closer and watched in silence as the blonde went through her photographs one by one; she let her eyes wander over the blonde's face until she reached for the last one.

"What?" Quinn asked in response to Rachel's nervous gasp.

"Nothing," she lied as she took a seat next to the blonde. "That one is merely my college portfolio—it isn't very interesting."

The brunette made a grab for it, but the blonde whisked it out of reach with a mischievous look on her face.

"It seems interesting to me," Quinn crooned. "Even more interesting now."

Rachel could have demanded that the model release her property, but instead, she leaned back on the couch and tried—poorly—to look unbothered. Quinn smiled and began flipping through the portfolio slowly—painfully slowly—and Rachel watched her closely as she studied each page.

"I don't see what you are so nervous about." The blonde shrugged.

"I simply don't believe that most of the work in there is an appropriate representation of my style," Rachel sighed. "Most of them were assignments and we had little creative control. Not to mention that I was a student at the time and so the mistakes in there are quite embarrassing to me now."

"I don't see any mistakes," Quinn commented.

"You aren't a photographer," the brunette pointed out.

"You're a perfectionist aren't you?" the blonde said with a laugh.

"I do not see how people use the word 'perfectionist' as though it were a bad thing." Rachel huffed. "Everyone wants everything perfect and yet when someone like myself actually strives for it, they are mocked for it."

"I'm not judging you," Quinn assured her, and her warm tone washed over the petite woman, "but it is kind of adorable to watch you freak out about it."

The blonde snapped her mouth shut and focused on the photos in front of her; Rachel smugly recalculated her odds of asking the model out later. Truth be told, Rachel was eager to see her reaction to the last few photos of her college career; that would be one more clue. She watched over Quinn's shoulder as she continued to flip through the old assignments and the blonde paused when she reached the last two pages.

"What's this?" she questioned.

"My final project," Rachel answered excitedly. "You could even call it my thesis, in a way. The parameters given to us were that we had to recreate famous posters with a twist of our own."

Quinn nodded slowly. "So you weren't assigned to have to do this specifically."

The brunette faltered for a moment and cleared her throat. "I know that it may not be the most original of ideas, and not to toot my own horn, but the LGBT on campus did end up using them for their awareness campaign."

Rachel pointed to her recreation of Pretty Woman where both figures were modeled by the same person. "That one was the hardest to accomplish; it took a lot of work because we were forbidden to use Photoshop for the final project and, not to sound full of myself, I think it turned out quite well."

Quinn nodded. "I can see how that would be difficult."

The photographer smiled as she looked over the other photos: two young men graced the revamped cover of Sleepless In Seattle, her rendition of Bridget Jones's Diary was altered to represent bisexuals, and she openly giggled as she remembered the fuss her models had put up during the shooting of The Notebook poster. The blonde looked at her in confusion and she felt herself blush a little as hazel eyes peered into her.

"Naomi and Emily objected profusely throughout the entire process for that one," she explained quickly. "I was more than a little tempted to torture them unduly from time to time, but, being the bigger person, I did manage to refrain. Well, I suppose Naomi's threats had a little to do with my restraint as well."

"So you're gay?" Quinn asked point blank and Rachel bit her lip lightly.

"Yes," the brunette nodded as she scooted back a little on the couch, "will that be a problem for you?"

The blonde let out a little cough of a laugh before answering, "Of course not."

"Because if you think that it may be a problem for you it is best that we settle that before we continue." Rachel sighed. "If for some reason my orientation makes you uncomfortable then it would obviously be best to consider—"

"I said it's not a problem, okay?" Quinn groaned as she stood up. "It really isn't. I just never would have guessed—never mind, that's all; I didn't expect that, but it's not a problem."

"Well, good," the brunette huffed as her calculations went down the drain, "I suppose."

The model rolled her hazel eyes. "I offended you, didn't I? I didn't mean to."

"Not at all," she lied.

"Well," Quinn paused, "good. So, I have the schedule you sent over, and e-mailed, so I'll see you next week?"

"Yes." Rachel nodded.

Quinn handed back the portfolio and headed towards the screen to collect the garment bag, but Rachel quickly assured her that she needn't carry it back and forth each time. The blonde nodded and headed for the door and, in turn, the brunette headed for the dark room.

"You're a really great photographer, Rachel," the model commented before ducking out the door.

With Quinn gone, Rachel sighed and headed for the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. The photographer didn't care to admit just how disappointed she was, yet she was busy chastising herself for getting her hopes up in the first place. After a glass or two of water, she was ready to dive into work and forget the romantic daydream that had just eluded her. At any rate, she could content herself with the knowledge that she had, in fact, made the perfect choice of model; Quinn was stunning, hard working, warm, and professional. Rachel had no doubt that each photo shoot would go off without a hitch.

* * *

Rachel waited outside the building where Blaine worked; her friend made ends meet as an accountant and had pulled several strings to get her the permits to photograph around the building. She'd always liked the look of Wade Street; it was less crowded and the road was lined with small decorative trees and plants. It seemed like the perfect transition for her project and she stood in front of the double doors with Blaine as she anticipated Quinn's arrival. The brunette checked her watch and sighed; she had hoped the blonde would be early like last time, but she wasn't. Technically, Quinn wasn't late yet, but time was drawing close. The model's familiar voice drifted from around the corner and Rachel snapped to attention. It frustrated her that she was still so eager to see the girl and her friend gave her a knowing look.

She couldn't help but feel even more crestfallen when the blonde came into view, arm in arm with a young man, and their laughter filled the street. Rachel took the garment bag from Blaine and shook her head at him before he could say a word. Had Blaine not insisted that they celebrate the success of her first shoot with some 'well deserved alcohol' as he put it, she never would have admitted her little momentary crush on the girl—and he would not be looking at her in the pitying way he was now.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Quinn said lightly as they came to a stop.

"As a matter of fact, you're not late," Rachel assured her. "Blaine will let you in and allow you to get changed."

"Thanks." The blonde smiled before planting a kiss on the boy's cheek. "I'll be right back, Sam."

Blaine gave her a puzzled look as he introduced himself and led the model inside, leaving the photographer alone with who she could only assume was Quinn's boyfriend.

"So," the blonde boy drawled, "you're like an artist? I mean a legit one?"

"I try to be," Rachel answered, trying to force down the unwarranted jealously that sprang to life inside her.

"Cool," Sam chatted on. "My roommate, Puck, is kind of an artist—well, he does tattoos. He's pretty good at it; he did this one."

With that he turned and lifted his shirt, bringing the petite photographer face to face with a comical caricature of a bass with the words 'Trouty Mouth' on a banner around it. The brunette struggled to control her gut reaction as the boy glanced back at her over his shoulder, clearly proud of the tattoo.

"It's very," Rachel groped for the appropriate response, "original."

Sam nodded and pulled his shirt back down as he turned to face her. "It was a nickname in high school. It used to bother me, but then Puck said I should just embrace it."

"I suppose I can understand that," she responded lightly.

"It's okay that I'm here, right?" Sam asked sheepishly. "Quinn said it wouldn't be a problem and I figured since she was walking here and all, it might be safer."

It frustrated her how likeable the boy was; it seemed downright rude that he would be likeable. It would have been much better for everyone involved, everyone being Rachel, if she could just hate him. Sam's nervous smile and the way he seemed legitimately worried that he may be a burden in some way spoke to her, however, and she couldn't bring herself to ask him to leave. It would be rude.

"I don't see how you being here should be a problem," the brunette shrugged, "though I do wish Quinn had mentioned it to me before hand. I'm afraid this will be rather boring for you."

"No way," Sam smiled, "I've never seen a real shoot before."

"You've never gone with Quinn to any of her other jobs?" Rachel asked.

"Actually, we just," he began, but stopped when the double doors opened.

The blonde had remembered to un-tuck her shirt and smudge her makeup, and the brunette smiled. Rachel glanced away from Quinn quickly and had the misfortune of catching Sam, mouth open in awe, as he stared at the model.

"Am I camera ready?" Quinn asked.

"Almost," Rachel answered as she stepped forward to adjust the model's hair. "There, now you are ready."

The woman's hazel eyes seemed to linger on the photographer's face before she shook her head and glanced quickly over Rachel's shoulder to Sam. The brunette gazed up at her for a moment and cursed her heart for beating a little faster at the mere thought of the blonde's intense stare.

"I just need to get my gear set up and then we can begin," she breathed as she assured herself that she was imagining things.

As she rummaged through her supplies she could hear the boy protesting behind her, "Hey, careful, I don't want to mess up your makeup," and the brunette rolled her eyes.

"Are you alright?" Blaine whispered. "You seem upset."

"Nonsense," Rachel sighed as she stood back up.

Before she turned, she steeled herself for whatever she might see, which was Quinn leaning heavily against Sam's side. She sighed loudly and the boy straightened up and took a step away from the model; at least the brunette could hold on to the hope that he would prove to be a burden, but that wasn't the case. For every distraction Quinn caused by making constant shows of P.D.A, Sam seemed to make up for it by trying to be helpful. The boy seemed thrilled with every aspect of photography and began lending a hand with the bounce cards. Rachel could tell that she was getting some truly remarkable shots despite the fact that her model took every quick break as a chance to fawn over her boyfriend. Blaine continued to watch her, and she did her best to seem only concerned with her work. Hiding her feelings had always been exhausting and she'd never been very good at it, but she reminded herself minute by minute that this was her big chance—she couldn't let anything ruin it.

Hours later, the brunette was checking over her list to be sure she had everything she needed while she tried to ignore the obnoxious smacking sounds coming from a few feet away. The look on Blaine's face was enough to tell her she didn't want to turn around.

"We have everything we need for today," Rachel called over her shoulder as she began packing away her things.

"Cool," Sam said cheerfully. "This was fun."

Quinn walked up to retrieve the garment bag from Rachel. "So you're sure that you got everything?"

"I'm the perfectionist, right?" Rachel said softly.

"Alright." The blonde nodded as she turned to Blaine, who escorted her back inside to change.

"It was really great to meet you and Blaine," Sam said enthusiastically. "I'm sorry if I was in the way."

"No," she sighed sadly, "you were very helpful."

Quinn reappeared quickly and Rachel took the bag from her hand. "You know when and where for next time?"

"Yep." the model nodded.

"Alright," the brunette sighed again, "see you then."

Rachel watched as the pair made their way down the street and tried, unsuccessfully, not to listen in on their conversation.

"You were great," the young man was saying.

"Thanks." Quinn nodded.

"I just don't get why artists are always so sad all the time," Sam's voice droned.

The blonde turned her head quickly to glance back towards Rachel and the photographer quickly began examining her camera again; her cheeks burned at being caught watching them, or more appropriately Quinn, leave.

"I'll help you with your things," Blaine said as he shouldered one of her bags.

"Hmm?" Rachel shrugged as she reached down to retrieve the bag that was no longer there.

Her friend gave her a nervous look and she quirked her head at him. "What?"  
"You're not," he paused, "putting yourself through another unrequited love disaster are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Rachel snapped.

Blaine didn't look convinced and she felt her cheeks warming under his gaze. She turned on her heel and began marching determinedly down the sidewalk with him following quickly behind her.

* * *

Quinn paced the living room as she listened to the obnoxiously loud 'Red Solo Cup' ring-back-tone on Sam's phone and willed him to either answer or for it turn to voicemail soon. Finally the man's chipper voice sounded over the phone and she smiled. "Sam," she crooned, "how have you been?"

"Okay," he replied happily. "I was starting to wonder if I'd ever hear from you again."

"Oh, I know," Quinn said, being sure to project her pout into her voice. "I've just been so busy the past few days. I was wondering, since you enjoyed the photo shoot so much, if you would like to come keep me company again today."

There was silence on the other end of the line and the blonde held her breath.

"I don't know," Sam said slowly. "It was cool last time, but—"

"Please?" Quinn gushed. "I know the photographer wasn't too friendly, but I really enjoyed having you there with me—didn't you?"

Her roommate popped her head into the living room and Quinn tried to wave her away. The girl, clad all in black, didn't budge; instead, she leaned on the doorframe and Quinn rolled her eyes and turned her back on the eavesdropping girl.

"No, Rachel was fine; I get that she's just the super focused type," Sam answered nervously.

"Then what's the problem?" the blonde asked, trying to keep her voice sweet despite her irritation.

"Well, it's just—I don't know where I stand with you, Quinn," he replied with a groan. "I mean, I gave you my number and never heard from you. Then out of the blue you call me up and ask me out to a photo shoot; then you ditched me for the date afterwards and I didn't hear from you again."

"I know, I'm sorry, I was just so tired. I promise that won't happen again tonight," Quinn pleaded as she resumed her frantic pacing.

Her roommate was studying her skeptically and she rolled her hazel eyes at the girl before taking the conversation into her bedroom. She wouldn't be able to sweet talk the boy with her vampire-queen-bedfellow scrutinizing her, and she didn't want to hear the entire reenactment after she'd hung up.

"It's not just that," Sam mumbled.

"Then what?" the blonde grumbled.

"Well, I was thinking," he stammered a little. "I mean you were all over me during and—"

"Are you saying you didn't like that?" Quinn asked sharply.

"No, no," Sam assured her. "I mean at the time it was great, but then you're so hot and cold and I started thinking—"

_Great_, she thought to herself, _you started thinking_.

"That dude was your ex wasn't he?" the man stated. "I mean, if you like me and you're just a hot and cold kind of girl that's fine, but if you're using me to make some dude jealous it's not cool."

"Don't be stupid," Quinn snapped before thinking. "I'd never met him in my entire life."

"Well something was up," Sam snapped back.

"Just come with me today and I'll make it up to you," she promised aggressively.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled quietly. "I can't."

"Fine!" the model snapped as she hung up and flung the phone of the bed.

_What is wrong with men?_ Quinn thought angrily to herself. _What is wrong with me? I must be losing my touch._ The thought terrified her; Quinn studied herself in the mirror nervously. Men were easy to manipulate—a teasing smile, a soft word, and a suggestive bat of the eyelashes. Sam had a good time. The blonde knew there were plenty of guys who would kill to have her on their arm, but she needed it to be him; she couldn't just show up with a different man.

"Knock, knock," her roommate said from the open doorway.

"Go away, Tina," Quinn moaned as she turned away from the mirror and let herself fall back on the bed.

"Aqua Man turned you down I take it?" Tina said with a shrug.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Yes, and now I have to go to the shoot alone."

"Oh no," her roommate gasped, "and you'll have to face the scary lesbian all by yourself!"

"I liked you better when you were scared of me and had a stutter," the blonde grumbled.

"I liked you better when you paid your half of the rent on time," Tina countered as she hurried over to the girl's makeup kit. "Hey, this is my eye-liner."

"Like you need more eyeliner," Quinn snapped.

It wasn't entirely true that she liked her roommate more back when she was timid, but she wasn't used to the more assertive Tina yet. Quinn had been desperate when she answered the personal ad for a roommate; her first impression of the girl was your typical high-school goth, all torture and darkness. It hadn't taken long to see past the girl's style choices to the soft hearted, intelligent, and artistic rebel that was Tina Cohen-Chang. Quinn had to admit it was better than living with other models; they even considered each other as friends—most of the time.

"Hey," Quinn said softly. "You're my friend, right?"

Her roommate stiffened and looked at her nervously. "Uh—"

"You have to come with me!" the blonde demanded.

"Why?" Tina groaned.

"Because if I don't finish out this contract I won't have rent," she stated evenly.

"Quinn," her roommate sighed, "you'll finish it. What's gotten into you anyway?"

"Nothing," Quinn lied. "Come on. You like artistic stuff. I just don't want to be alone with Rachel."

"Why?" Tina chuckled. "Look, I know you're used to guys drooling over you and all that, but that doesn't mean this girl is going to take advantage of you just because she's gay. You know better than that; you're being silly."

Quinn knew she was being silly; she'd only spent a handful of hours with Rachel and she could tell that the girl would never do anything to make her uncomfortable. That didn't matter; as pathetic as it seemed, the brunette did make Quinn nervous.

"I'll let you get a pet," the blonde bargained, which caused her roommate to stop and think.

"What kind of a pet?" the girl asked mischievously.

Quinn bit her lip and paused. "Nothing with scales or more than four legs."

"And you'll stop stealing my eyeliner?" Tina added.

"Yes," she sighed.

"Deal," her roommate chirped.

* * *

She could see Rachel pacing just outside the abandoned building; they were late, and this time it wasn't by a couple of minutes— Quinn was half an hour late.

"Great location," Tina breathed without a hint of sarcasm.

The blonde smirked—of course Tina would love a broken down building in a forgotten part of town. Quinn could see where this shoot was leading and she was inspired by the photographer's eye for detail, but right now, the woman's deep brown eyes were focused on her as she approached.

"You are late," Rachel snapped as she handed over the garment bag.

"I'm sorry," Quinn shrugged, "we got a little lost."

"I provided you with a map and directions and," the brunette took a deep breath, "it's alright. These things happen. You need to change quickly, though, or we are going to miss the golden hour."

"The what?" the blonde asked as the brunette shoed her towards the changing room.

"It's the best light conditions for capturing images on film," Tina said quickly before addressing the photographer. "I'm really sorry we are late."

"It's fine," the petite girl snapped. "I'm sorry, I am a bit stressed."

"I'm hurrying," Quinn called as she struggled into the outfit. The suit was ragged and the note attached to it indicated that she needed to muss her hair and smear her makeup. She hurried to get ready and stepped back outside.

"There's only one shoe in the bag," she pointed out.

"Yes," Rachel agreed. "You're only wearing one shoe."

"Okay," Quinn shrugged, "is my makeup—"

The blonde froze as the brunettes fingers tangled in to her hair and she held her breath; the woman's brown eyes were studying her meticulously and she could feel her entire body flush as the photographer continued to loosen the bun and pull some of her locks free. Rachel's hands were warm as she smudged Quinn's eyeliner gently and then stepped back quickly, leaving the model feeling slightly chilled in her absence.

"Alright," the photographer nodded, "I've marked the places I would like you to stand over there."

"Okay," Quinn gasped as she remained still.

Tina nudged her gently. "Tight over there; see it?"

"Yeah, I see it," the blonde snapped as she hobbled over to the first marker.

"Alright, Quinn," Rachel directed as she aimed the camera, "you're tired, you're desperate, you're exhausted with the fighting and struggling—right now you just want to give up. Can you give me that?"

"Yeah," Quinn sighed, "sure."

The model had been hearing the familiar whirling sound of the camera in her sleep and she shook her head to try to clear it as Rachel approached her.

"Very good," the brunette assured her warmly. "Next marker, please."

It occurred to Quinn that this would be easier if the photographer would simply stop treating her so gently; it would be better if being late, or bringing along a date and behaving inappropriately would somehow dampen the seemingly relentless warmth of the other girl, but Rachel seemed full of forgiveness. It crossed the blonde's mind, momentarily, that she would very much like for Rachel to hate her—anything that might drive a wedge between them. The thought was fleeting; it would be wrong to continue mess things up on purpose. It would be cruel to risk everything the brunette was working for, and for what? There was no reason to it; so what if Rachel was kind to her? It wasn't as though Quinn wasn't used to people treating her well. The photographer was no different.

"You're doing wonderfully, Quinn," Rachel said brightly. "One last marker."

* * *

"Where are we going?" the model moaned at her roommate.

"The pet store," Tina answered smugly.

"I just want to go home," Quinn pleaded.

"A deal is a deal," her friend said lightly. "I went with you and now I get a pet, finally."

Quinn leaned her head against the passenger side window and sighed. "Are you coming with me tomorrow?"

"Nope," Tina replied. "I have a sculpting class."

"Artists," she said bitterly.

"You don't need me to go with you anyway," her roommate commented. "You're not afraid of Rachel."

"I never said I was afraid of her; I said I don't want to be alone with her," the blonde corrected.

The car came to a stop at a little strip mall and Quinn groaned again. Tina was studying her once more and she rolled her eyes.

"Quinn," the girl said timidly, "don't you want to come in and help pick it out?"

"No," the blonde snapped. "You didn't even really earn it since you're abandoning me tomorrow."

The girl laughed and shook her head. "You know what your real problem is?"

"Please, Tina, tell me what my problem is," Quinn rattled off sarcastically. "I'm dying to be enlightened."

"I think you like her," Tina sing-songed at her. "I think you like her like a Katy Perry song."

Her hazel eyes narrowed on her roommate while Tina laughed and fished around the car for her CD, but when the girl's dark rimmed eyes glanced up at the blonde her face went slack. It was a harmless joke, Quinn knew that, but it stung nonetheless and she was struggling to hold back her temper.

"Quinn?" Tina gasped.

"Fuck you," Quinn yelled. "I can't believe you would say that."

"I was only joking with you," her roommate stammered. "What are you getting so mad about? I mean, yeah, you two seemed intense today, but then who knows—you've always been intense and I can tell that Rachel's picture is probably in the dictionary next to intense, but I was just joking around because it seems silly that you have a problem with her."

"You don't know anything," the model snapped. "You go to one shoot and decide I'm in love with someone. You know how I feel about this stuff. It's fine if some people want to live that kind of life, but it's not me."

"I didn't say that," Tina replied. "Look, forget I said anything, geez; I knew you weren't in line for the parade, but I didn't know you were so—where are you going?"

Quinn turned her head as she continued to stomp away. "I'm going home."

"Quinn, come back here; it was a joke," her roommate pleaded as she continued down the sidewalk.

* * *

Rachel waited nervously at the gate to the park and checked her watch for the hundredth time. When Quinn finally came into view, the brunette could instantly tell that something was off about her. The blonde shimmied to a stop in front of her and took a sip out of her water bottle.

"Okay, where do I change?" Quinn asked and the petite woman's nose wrinkled at the smell of alcohol.

"What are you doing?" Rachel snapped.

"I'm trying to get changed for this shoot," the blonde slurred as she grabbed the garment bag from her.

"You are drunk!" the brunette hissed back at her. "The shoot is ruined! This is completely unprofessional."

"Oh please," Quinn groaned, "I'm fine."

The model hurried over to the restrooms to change and Rachel sat down and rubbed her temples gently; first the boyfriend, then being late, and now this. The brunette inwardly hoped that it would be okay, but she highly doubted it. Not to mention if someone in the park realized that Quinn was intoxicated they could both be thrown out and banned.

_What am I going to do?_ Rachel wondered as she walked into the restroom to check on the blonde. _I ought to call the agency about this, but then, she might loose her job._

Quinn was fixing her hair in the mirror and the brunette reached up to help her, only to have her hand slapped away.

"Quit trying to touch me," the model grumbled.

"I assure you that I am not trying to touch you for no good reason," she snapped back. "I am merely trying against all odds to keep you from ruining this for me."

"Oh, really?" Quinn slurred again.

"For your information, not all lesbians are trying to force themselves onto every straight woman they see," Rachel huffed harshly. "This is precisely why I asked you if it would be a problem for you, which clearly it is. You obviously cannot handle this like a professional."

The girl rolled her hazel eyes and brushed past her. "I'm fine; I could do this in my sleep. Let's just get your damn pictures already."

Rachel rushed after her and smacked the bottle out of her hand. "So help me if you take so much as another sip I will call your agent."

The empty threat seemed to sober the girl instantly; the brunette knew she should contact Miss Sylvester, she should complain, she should be fighting harder against the other girl, but she couldn't. Despite the jeopardy her project was now in, she felt foolishly worried about the blonde—people didn't do this kind of thing for no reason. Rachel even felt momentarily guilty, as ridiculous as it seemed, for somehow making Quinn uncomfortable, even if it wasn't her fault at all.

"Fine!" Quinn yelled as she tossed the bottle at her, mercifully it missed her completely, and then proceeded to stare at her in horror.

The brunette picked up the plastic container and emptied it out on the ground before taking a deep breath. Rachel was not above throwing a tantrum as well, but the woman's hazel eyes were so filled with fear—no, upon closer inspection, it would more appropriately be classified as terror.

_What is wrong with me?_ She thought. _This is unacceptable; she is going to ruin everything. _Rachel took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"Alright," she sighed, "we will just get through this as best we can. Go drink some water and perhaps that will sober you up."

The model stomped over to the fountain and followed the photographer's orders; in time, she seemed calm enough to continue. Quinn remained surly through out the entire process, but in the end, Rachel felt she had what she needed to continue, but she knew another day like today would sink her entire campaign. The wise thing to do would be to end it now, scrap everything she had done so far, and begin anew with a different model, but for some reason, despite her better judgment, she couldn't bring herself to do it. As she pulled up in front of Quinn's apartment building, she left the car doors locked. It helped her to stare directly ahead as she confronted the blonde seriously.

"I will pick you up here next week for the final shoot," she said evenly. "And then you will never have to see me again. However, if you are late, and if you have so much as half and ounce of alcohol in your system, I will call Miss Sylvester and have our contract ended. If you are more comfortable bringing your boyfriend along, or your friend, that is fine, but I will put up with no more of this nonsense. Do we have an understanding?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Quinn mumbled.

"That hardly matters," the brunette chastised. "I do not have the patience to squabble with you over semantics. Will you be able to behave professionally or should I replace you now?"

"I'm sorry." The blonde hiccupped. "I can handle it."

"I certainly hope you can." Rachel nodded as she unlocked the car and let the girl out. "Next week, on time, sober."

With that, Rachel drove away with her had spinning as though she were drunk herself.

* * *

As the car weaved around turns in the road, Quinn watched Rachel's hands on the steering wheel; her heart beat a little faster than it should as she listened to the brunette explain the plan for the day in a dry and husky voice.

"We only need a few shots from the mountain across from the Resort and Spa, but first we will get the more commercial shots from inside," the photographer explained. "They should be rather easy, and they promised us both a massage before we leave."

_Can we pull over?_ Quinn thought, and before she could open her mouth to speak the words, they were doing just that. Her eyes lingered on the brunette's lips as they unbuckled their seatbelts.

"What do you need?" Rachel's voice rasped.

Quinn licked her lips and shook her head. _I don't know. I really don't know what I need _she thought. _I think I need you._

A warm hand touched her cheek and the soft caress of skin seemed to radiate through the blonde's entire body. Quinn placed her hand timidly over Rachel's closed her eyes. Her palm slid along the brunette's arm and cupped her neck; the blonde pulled her forward until she could feel the woman's breath on her face. Quinn's eyes snapped open and she tilted her head forward until their lips grazed together, an impossibly fleeting brush and pause before crashing together.

Without knowing how, the two of them were in the back seat and Rachel's balmy hands were caressing her face. Quinn moaned and pulled her closer, gripping the skin at the back of the girl's neck as she buried her face against her and breathed in her scent. She couldn't put a name to the smell; it sent images through her mind in flashes that felt like long forgotten happy memories—it was just Rachel.

"But you hate me," Rachel whispered in her ear.

"I don't hate you," she assured her. "I hate myself."

Quinn pressed her lips roughly against Rachel's. _Touch me,_ she thought, and the brunette's hands skidded along the length of her back before dragging around her sides and up over her breasts. The blonde moaned and arched as she gripped the grab-handle with both hands, looking down at the brunette.

"Well, I love you," Rachel whispered up at her as she continued to knead her breasts. "So you should love yourself."

Quinn felt it; not just the pleasant pressure against her chest, or the heat building at her core, but she felt the love seeping into every point the brunette touched. She didn't know where her clothes had gone, but she didn't care; there was no world outside of the car and she didn't care about that either. The world was in the other woman's warm brown eyes as they focused on every part of her; Quinn believed those eyes could see everything in her. Every thought, every fear, and the beat of her heart, which quickened to an alarming pace as Rachel's tan hands traced a path down to her hips.

_Please, please_, the blonde's voice vibrated in her skull until the brunette's fingers dipped into her center and caused a wave of heat to flash through her body. Quinn's mouth dropped open; she was acutely aware of the fact that the moans and gasps filling the air emanated from somewhere deep and hidden. Rachel smiled up at her as she continued to penetrate her. As the gratifying sensation began to fill her, Quinn felt as though she were coming apart at the seams. When her body clinched tight around the girl's hand, she felt the most rewarding sense of breaking. Her fingers tangled into her own hair as Quinn gave in to a feeling she'd never allowed herself to indulge before.

"You want me?" Rachel asked, her voice heavy and light at the same time.

Quinn nodded and felt no fear in admitting it; she was not afraid, not even of the cracking and splintering sounds coming from the body—the blonde shattered and crumbled like glass.

* * *

Rachel canceled the call as Quinn rushed out of her apartment building and jumped into the car. She had spent most of the night before and this morning preparing herself to feel no sympathy for the model no matter what state she might be in. Hours on the elliptical had centered her to the point she felt sure that she could keep her will focused completely on the task at hand; she could not be distracted and she would not accept anything but the utmost professionalism from here on in.

"You're late," the photographer huffed.

"I'm sorry," the model said quickly. "I'm only five minutes late; I couldn't help it, I couldn't sleep last night, so I took a pill."

"You're on drugs?" Rachel asked quickly.

"No," Quinn snapped. "It was a sleeping pill, regular—over the counter—that's all."

"You seem," the brunette paused, "something seems off."

Rachel had come prepared with a breathalyzer test and she glanced to the back seat and hoped she wouldn't have to use it on Quinn.

"I'm fine, I just had a nightmare," the blonde assured her. "Shouldn't we be going?"

Rachel studied Quinn for a moment as the blonde slumped down in her seat; she certainly looked like she'd had a horrible night, but she seemed clear. At the very least, the model seemed intent on finishing their work without issue.

"Alright," she agreed, as she started the car, and began driving. "We only need a few shots from the mountain across from the Resort and Spa, but first we will get the more commercial shots from inside. They promised us both—"

"Can we turn on the radio?" Quinn asked suddenly.

The photographer flipped on the radio and turned her attention to the road; it was going to be a long drive and the blonde was clearly unwilling to talk to her. Perhaps that was best; it was better to be quiet than to spend the entire time arguing.

"I am sorry, you know?" the blonde said as she stared out the window. "What I did was unprofessional and uncalled for, so I am sorry about that."

"Thank you," Rachel replied, a little shocked by the apology.

"I know this is your big break," Quinn continued, "and I shouldn't have let my personal issues interfere."

She was almost too afraid to respond. "Personal issues?"

The model shook her head. "I'm just saying the way I've acted isn't about you. That's all. Just to be clear, it's not anything personal against you."

"Okay." Rachel nodded, finding it hard to keep her eyes on the road.

The brunette didn't quite believe her, but at least Quinn seemed determined to do better on a professional level. The petite woman struggled to remind herself that whatever it was that was bothering the other woman wasn't any of her concern, but she couldn't help but wonder.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she tested timidly.

"No," Quinn replied quickly.

"Alright." Rachel shrugged as she turned up the radio.

* * *

"Well," the photographer sighed as she placed her last bounce card, "this is it—the final shoot. We've had wonderful massages, the weather is nice, and all that remains is these last few photos to complete the set. Then we will be done."

Quinn nodded as she stood shakily on a rock.

Rachel peered through the camera. "Yes, this will be perfect. Oh—be careful."

The blonde gave her a lopsided smile and shrugged, which made the brunette uneasy; they were, after all, on the edge of a very steep cliff. Quinn had seemed to be in better spirits after the massage, but on the quick drive over here she had become quiet and distant again. Try as she might, Rachel couldn't help but be worried about her. Still, there was a job to do and the brunette convinced herself that she was happy to finish this and be done with the whole ordeal.

"Ready?" she called as she focused the camera.

"Yes," Quinn answered.

"I'm starting now," Rachel announced.

It really was a breathtaking view, and despite all the trouble she'd had up until this point, as she looked at the blonde and imagined the shots in her mind, Quinn was still the right choice. Rachel huffed at herself when she realized she was studying the blonde through the camera and hurried to adjust the focus. She let the camera rapid fire as she eased her way around to encompass the scene, but not long after the brunette came around in front of the blonde, the girl inexplicably burst into tears.

"I—Quinn?" the photographer stammered. "Are you alright? What is going on?"

"I'm fine," the model sobbed. "I'm fine."

"You are far from fine," Rachel huffed, "what is the matter?"

"I just need a few minutes," Quinn assured her.

"We are almost done." The brunette groaned. "Don't you realize that in a mere fifteen minutes you will be done with me forever?"

The blonde squinted her hazel eyes at her and turned to stomp away, back up to the car.

"Where are you going?" Rachel screamed after her.

"I just need a few minutes," Quinn called back, causing the photographer to let out an exasperated sigh.

"Never again will I accept it when someone calls me a diva!" she grumbled to herself.

As the minutes ticked by, she grew more and more impatient; Rachel was ready to give up on her project and Quinn Fabray. The brunette stood up and tried to shake off her frustration; Rachel Berry was nothing if not tenacious and she couldn't let anyone stand in the way of her dreams. After well, over fifteen minutes had lapsed; she stood up and marched her way back up to the car prepared to drag the blonde back down if she had to, but when she reached the car only to see Quinn curled up in the passenger seat sobbing, she felt her resolve falter.

"Quinn," Rachel said softly. "I don't know what is the matter, but we have to finish this. Please consider allowing me to help you with whatever it is that has you so upset so that we can continue."

The response from the blonde was muffled and the photographer leaned a little closer. "I can't understand what you are trying to say, Quinn."

"I'm gay! Alright?" Quinn wailed at her, "I tried not to be; I've tried so hard, but then I met you and I can't stand it. I could ignore it before, but I want you and it's ruined everything. Everything! I don't want this, Rachel; I don't want it."

The blonde jerked away from her and curled back up; Rachel stared at her for a moment before closing the car door and hopping into the driver's seat. As the engine roared to life, the model, somewhat coherently, asked about the rest of the shots.

"I will simply have to work with what I already have," Rachel assured her—it didn't seem to comfort the other woman at all.

* * *

Quinn had realized the truth some time during high school, and ever since, she had done everything she could think of it bury that truth away. Her family had taught her that it was morally wrong, and she had been determined to ignore it until it went away, but it never did. She'd kept everyone at arms length so that she couldn't get close to them—so that she couldn't fall for anyone—but someone had gotten close to her and it had only taken a few hours. Quinn had somehow let her guard down with Rachel that day and she had contented herself to believe it would be harmless—there was no way that the brunette could have been interested in her and so nothing would come of it. In only a few hours, the photographer had threatened nearly a lifetime of hard worked towards suppression and the blonde had been struggling to push a wedge back in between them. Quinn, who had always achieved, had attempted to fail spectacularly because she needed Rachel to hate her— because she knew she couldn't hate Rachel.

The brunette, however, had seemed hell bent on forgiving the blonde's every transgression; even now, Rachel was risking her hopes and dreams to drive Quinn home because she needed to go. The blonde would have hated her for it, but she knew better than to try.

"Is your roommate home?" the photographer asked.

"I think so," Quinn mumbled.

"You should call and make sure; I do not think it is a good idea for you to be alone right now," the brunette insisted.

Rachel handed her the phone and Quinn took it begrudgingly, careful not to make contact with the woman's tempting hands. She let the phone ring until her roommate answered, then hung up quickly without speaking.

"She's home."

"Do you need help getting inside?" Rachel asked softly.

"I'm gay," Quinn sighed with a roll of her eyes, "not paralyzed."

She couldn't bring herself to look at the woman as she climbed out of the car and hurried into her building.

* * *

"Any sign of her?" Blaine whispered when there was finally a lull in conversation.

Rachel had been busy speaking with all sorts of people at her gallery showing, but not too busy to both look for and avoid the model.

"I haven't seen her," she sighed. "I don't know if she will come at all."

"It was in her contract, wasn't it?" he asked.

"I wouldn't hold her to it," Rachel said with a shake of her head. "I don't even know how I feel about possibly seeing her. It's been months; she was utterly devastated the last time I saw her. I don't even know what to expect."

Blaine shrugged. "You want to see her."

It was true; Rachel hoped that Quinn would show up—even if she didn't know what would come of it. The photographer was a nervous wreck, and it had nothing to do with her job or the gallery showing. Despite all that had gone wrong and all the setbacks, it had turned out splendidly and the gallery owners were eager to speak to her about a new project. Her friend clearly wanted to talk about the model, but she gave him a tortured look and he backed off.

"Thank you, by the way," he said lightly as he changed the subject. "For introducing me to Mr. Hummel."

"I had a feeling the two of you would hit it off." Rachel smiled gratefully.

"Speaking of," Blaine smiled, "I'm going to have to head out early. Kurt wants to see my artwork tonight."

"You're leaving me?" Rachel pouted. "But—wait—did you just call him Kurt?"

"Yeah," her friend chuckled, "it's kind of a date."

The brunette rested her hands on her hips. "You're ditching me here in my hour of need so that you can go on a date?"

"Yep," Blaine replied with an even wider smile.

She very much wanted to argue with him. It seemed incredibly unfair, but then again, there was no reason for them both to be miserable.

"Oh, fine, go," she said with wave. "You are dismissed."

Rachel made a few more rounds through the gallery, happy to be distracted by all the people who wanted to ask her about her work, but in time she found herself staring at the last photo of the series—the last image she had captured before Quinn broke down completely. The brunette had spent hours staring at this snap shot—more time than anyone would ever need to. The photographer had thought that her entire project might have been ruined, but this one had turned out to be the best photograph of the lot. The blonde had a look of complete relief and realization on her face—it had been perfect. To all of the gallery's guests, it depicted a woman who had just found peace, but to Rachel it meant something completely different.

It was the calm before the storm; it was a breaking point, and it was painful to look at yet impossible for her to turn her eyes from. Somehow, Rachel knew she had captured a brief glimpse of the real Quinn, without her walls and defenses. For that second the blonde had been free of every façade and manipulation she'd ever forced upon herself to be who she believed everyone needed her to be. The brunette almost hadn't put it into the collection; it felt too personal, too private, but Blaine had eventually convinced her that she had to—and it was right.

Someone cleared their throat behind her and Rachel prepared to answer another string of questions, but when she turned she was face to face with Quinn.

"Quinn," she stammered, far from the calm greeting she had rehearsed in her head.

The girl grabbed her hand and pulled her off into the hallway.

"I wasn't sure if you would come," Rachel continued to chatter nervously as she followed the blonde. "How have you been? I called once but—"

She had so many questions and the brunette felt like this may very well be her only chance to ask them. Rachel swallowed thickly at the pressure the Quinn was exerting on her hand. Hazel eyes locked with her own and she fell silent. Quinn leaned in close and pressed their lips together softly, and her questions were answered.

* * *

**More stating of the obvious; this isn't my best work. I know it - you know it - but I finished it. I know it's rushed, along with other shortcomings, but I finished it; which is saying something since the past month dealt me some of the worst depression I've had in a very long time. So realize that even though this installment isn't the best one ever; it was a victory in some way because if I had given up that very well might have been the end of all of the installments. So all I can say is I hope (and have a good feeling) that I will make it up to you in Headlines next month.  
**

**That being said, if by some miracle you enjoyed this please let me know. Also hit up the tumblr or wordpress to vote (the poll should be up Friday night or Saturday). **


	6. Headlines

**Sixth Installment. Detective Quinn Fabray is tasked to capture the perpetrator of a rash of burglaries. As she pursues the elusive criminal, she crosses paths with Rachel Berry, a reporter equally invested in the case, and together they dive into the mystery.**

**Professions - Headlines - Reporter/Detective**

***I do not own Glee or Glee Characters* Thanks to everyone for patiently waiting for this installment. Go give Invisimeg virtual kisses for editing this quickly. I want to thank everyone who responded with support and continued advice, inspiration, and suggestions. **

* * *

**Headlines**

As detective Quinn Fabray sifted through the debris on the floor, she heard her partner, Mike, chuckle. She turned and glanced up to see him waving a newspaper at her; the large bold print at the top read Bling-dini Strikes Again In Third Successful Robbery. Quinn rolled her eyes; tomorrow it would be four robberies, and they would be getting an earful from their sergeant or worse, the chief.

"It's a bit ironic isn't it?" Mike commented. "The other day they were probably reading this and last night it happened to them."

Quinn stood up with a groan; she wasn't finding any new clues. It didn't make sense; no one was this good. The thief had to be some kind of natural or highly trained, but if that were the case, then why were they hitting up rinky-dink businesses?

"That's not irony, Mike," she sighed, "it's just stupid. Have they gotten in touch with the owner yet?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I feel sorry for him. You go off on your honeymoon and this happens. Tough break."

"Seems to be going around." Quinn nodded. "Times are hard."

Her partner nodded as he dropped the paper back onto the counter. She scanned the room once again and let out another exasperated sigh.

"We're not going to find anything here; we'll have to hit the pawn shops again tomorrow to see if any of the jewelry is on the market yet," the blonde grumbled. "Any word from Abrams on the security footage?"

Mike shook his head. "Outside cameras were smashed before they could catch the perpetrator, and the one inside was blacked out just like before. This was a small business; they only had the three."

Detective Fabray wanted to scream; Mike nodded towards the door. "Let's go; we'll pick it up tomorrow. Want me to drop you off at home?"

Quinn locked the door behind them and replaced the tape; this case was killing her. They had no leads, no pattern to try to predict the next target—what they did have was lots of press attention. It felt humiliating just to read the newspapers anymore. Mike waited by the car for her answer.

"Just drop me off at the usual spot," she mumbled as she got into the police car.

"Are you going to need an intervention?" he asked playfully. "Because, when you refer to a seedy bar as 'the usual' that usually means there's a problem."

"I don't go there for the drink and you know it." The blonde sighed.

She hated the sympathetic look on his face. "You need a woman; someone to go home to at the end of a long day."

When it came to women, being a cop had its pros and cons; it was great for one night stands and short term flings. The uniform worked like a magnet for girls wanting to play out their fantasies. Committed relationships, on the other hand, were more difficult; erratic hours, stress, and danger were a tough thing to work around. The few women she'd dated seriously had always, inevitably, wanted her to quit the force, and that wasn't happening. Quinn wanted a traditional relationship, but traditional girls tended to be, well, traditional in every stupid societal sense of the word. Still, flings could be fun and it was probably for the best.

"We can't all be as lucky as you and Tina." The blonde smiled. "It's not as easy to find 'the one' for some of us."

They rode in silence as Quinn fidgeted with the tote at her feet. Maybe it was becoming too much of a habit—going to the bar nearly every night—but she was off duty and it was her business.

"We will find something," Mike chimed, snapping her out of her own head. "Tomorrow morning we will go through everything with a fine toothed comb and something will stand out. We will catch them."

"We'd better," she groaned. "Tanaka's not happy and I'm sure the Chief will be in on it soon."

"I love this part." He chuckled as he pulled up to the bar.

The patrons leaving the building gaped and instantly put their best, most sober feet forward, trying to look inconspicuous. The blonde giggled as she stepped out of the intimidating vehicle and bid her partner goodnight. She was off duty, but still in full uniform. Quinn made her way easily through the crowd that parted for her, giving her a wide and respectful birth. It reminded her of high school; the good part of high school anyway, right down to the way the bathroom emptied out for her the minute she entered. She discarded her badge and other standard issues into the tote before loosening her tie and unbuttoning her shirt. The blonde folded the items carefully and slipped them into the bag before removing the pins from her short hair and tussling it gently. She had remembered to bring her makeup along this time, and she carefully refreshed her face before shouldering her belongings and heading for the bar.

Quinn ordered her one drink for the night and scanned the crowd, all of who had gone back to their reckless partying, and she was already being checked out. Despite her better judgment, her hazel eyes darted around for a familiar face; it didn't take long to spot her. For the past several nights, the brunette had been there as well, eyeing her from across the room but never approaching. It was both flattering and slightly off putting the way those dark brown eyes never left her for too long, but the blonde couldn't complain; she'd spent her fair share of each evening ogling the girl as well. Tonight seemed different; normally the short, tanned woman was dressed very conservatively in business casual, but tonight the brunette's hair was loose and wavy and she wore a skin tight red dress that left little to the imagination.

The blonde turned and studied her in the mirror behind the bar; it amused her how the woman tried to act at home in the dress. The brunette was clearly unaware of how stunning she looked because self-consciousness was written in her every move as the people around her vied for her attention. Yes, the petite woman was a knock out, but she clearly wasn't used to showing quite so much skin. Quinn turned back around and waited for their eyes to lock again before giving her a sly smile and a slight tilt of her head towards the empty barstool next to her and turned back around to the bar. A huge part of her hoped the woman had caught the suggestion.

"Do you come here often?" the woman asked from behind her after a few minutes had passed.

"At least as often as you do, it seems," Quinn said playfully as she nudged the seat next to her out with her foot.

The brunette clamored up onto the stool and struggled to readjust her dress; the hem had crept scandalously high on her thigh when she sat down. The blonde tried not to be too obvious as her eyes wandered over the girl's toned legs, but the petite woman noticed nonetheless and blushed.

"I suppose I should have selected a more practical dress." The brunette sighed sheepishly. "I've no idea how to wear it."

"You look great; it suits you," she assured her, offering her hand. "Quinn."

"Rachel," the brunette replied as she gently shook her hand. "And thank you. It's just so—it's not what I usually wear."

"I noticed," Quinn replied with a coy smile.

Rachel smiled and toyed with the straw of her drink. "You've noticed me?"

"Well," the blonde chuckled, "I have eyes."

The petite girl clamped her mouth shut and her cheeks colored a deeper shade of red. Her fingers fidgeted with the cluster of gold stars around her neck; the charm seemed oversized for the delicate chain it hung on. Quinn finished her drink as Rachel continued to stare at her; she looked about to speak at any moment but remained silent.

"What?" She giggled.

"I'm merely admiring you," the girl said with a bat of her lashes. "What is it like?"

"You'd know as well as me." Quinn sighed. "If you hadn't noticed, plenty of people are admiring you right now."

Rachel did a double take around the room before laughing lightly. "No, I mean, being a police officer. It must be quite exciting."

The blonde smirked to cover her grimace. "At the moment it's just tiring, and technically I'm a detective."

"Oh," the brunette gasped, "I always imagined detectives as old, hard boiled men close to retirement."

She chuckled and rested her chin on her palm as she watched the woman's warm brown eyes light up.

"It's probationary," she confided. "And I could be back on the streets pounding the pavement if my partner and I don't—" Quinn stopped herself quickly and blushed. "Let's just say we are proving ourselves right now. There is a lot of pressure."

"Then we should find some way to take your mind off of it," Rachel said suggestively.

* * *

Quinn struggled to open the hotel door without breaking their wild kissing and guided Rachel into the room backwards. The brunette's arms were slung around her neck as she kicked off her heels, and the blonde giggled against her lips as she was suddenly jerked down by what seemed to be nearly a foot. She slung her tote onto the bed blindly and her companion hurriedly flung her clutch after it. Rachel pressed against her and Quinn collided with the door as it slammed shut. The petite woman nipped and sucked at her neck as she pinned her against the metal surface; the detective's hands tangled into her long, dark hair as the brunette found the pulse point and applied warm pressure to it. Her nimble hands were working Quinn's shirt free and her nails dragged pleasurably against bare skin. The blonde panted and dropped her hands to her belt quickly, feeling far too heated to be wearing so many layers of clothes.

Rachel's silvery laugh vibrated against her neck and the brunette withdrew as she lifted the undershirt over Quinn's head. The petite girl slid her palms over the blonde's arms with a lusty smile. The detective bit her lower lip as she strived to kick off her shoes and pants; she instinctively picked up her clothing to fold them and put them aside.

Quickly, Rachel turned and looked at Quinn over her shoulder. "Could you unzip me?"

The blonde smirked and threw the pants aside as she pursued the brunette further into the room, grabbing her from behind and pulling her close as she worked the zipper effortlessly down the length of her back. The lacy pink bra that Rachel wore seemed to starkly contrast the dark navy sports bra that covered Quinn's chest, and as the dress shifted down to the woman's waist, she relished the soft texture of the material while she guided a hand over the brunette's breasts. She brushed the long silken locks aside and buried her face against the nape of Rachel's neck, eliciting an excited gasp from the girl. The brunette squirmed against her as she worked the dress down to the floor. Quinn slid her free hand around Rachel's waist and relished the smooth velvet sensation of her skin. The petite woman's hands traced along both her arms upward before nestling roughly, but pleasantly, in her hair and moaned.

The blonde cupped the brunette's breast eagerly and pressed herself closer against the woman's back. Rachel twisted in her grip and attempted to pin her against the dresser as she pressed their lips together recklessly, but Quinn smirked against the kiss and backed her easily against the wall as she unhooked her bra. Her years of training had left her lean and strong, but she took care not to be too overly rough as she pressed the brunette against the paneling that lined the room. The blonde's kisses skimmed along Rachel's jaw line and down her neck; her pale fingers traced the lines of the brunette's collar bones as she nipped and sucked her way down to woman's nipples. Their breath was coming quick and jagged and Rachel gasped and moaned as Quinn nibbled at her peak.

Slowly, she trailed her hand down and dipped her fingers into the girl's panties, inching her way towards the apex of Rachel's legs. Quinn grinned at the slick heat of her companion and felt the brunette's legs tremble.

"Good?" she asked smugly, already knowing the answer.

Rachel nodded and bit down on her lip, trying to suppress a loud moan, and Quinn caressed small circles around the girl's damp center before gently entering her. The girl's legs twitched again and this time she could not control the rapturous response it elicited. The brunette was tearing at her back and the roughness of it spurred the blonde on all the more, pressing harder and deeper into her as Rachel gasped and panted out her appreciation. Quinn sank to her knees as she worked her fingers and felt the Rachel spasm and clench before her body went slack and the tan, toned girl rested her palms on the blonde's shoulders for support. She smiled up at the brunette mischievously as she carefully removed her hand.

Rachel's gazed unblinkingly down at her before her lips twitched up slyly.

"What?" Quinn giggled.

She was caught off guard when the girl suddenly pushed her down and straddled her; her head thudded against the floor, and for a second Rachel looked panicked, but it was clear that Quinn was not hurt, merely started by the girl's sudden action. The brunette's lips crashed down against her own before she could speak and her hands attempted to pin down her wrists; Quinn could easily escape, but she decided instead to humor the girl.

Rachel straightened back up and smirked down at her. "Your turn."

* * *

Rachel opened the door as quietly as she could with one free hand and peeked inside; Quinn was still asleep on the bed, tangled in the sheet exactly as she had left her half an hour ago. The brunette eased the door open and closed it carefully before setting her armload of breakfast onto the small table in front of the window. It had been slightly embarrassing to enter the café down the street in her crumpled red party dress and overly high heels, but it was worth it. The food smelled amazing. She sat on the unused bed and smiled as her eyes traveled once more over the blonde's lean figure. Last night had been amazing; it had also been more than she had planned, but she couldn't let that cloud her judgment. As though Quinn could feel her gaze, hazel eyes slowly peaked open.

"Hey there, sleepy head," Rachel teased lightly.

"What time is it?" Quinn asked, the rasp in her voice sending a chill up the brunette's spine.

"Breakfast time," she answered brightly.

The blonde reached out to turn the alarm clock and groaned. "It's 6am."

"Yes," Rachel agreed.

Quinn groaned again and then smiled. "At least I'm not late for work."

"You're more of a night owl, aren't you?" the brunette asked.

"Well, yeah, that's what happens when you have a late shift." The blonde chuckled. "Did you say breakfast?"

Rachel smiled broadly and hurried over to the table. "I didn't know how you liked your coffee, so I brought lots of sugar packets and creamers."

"Black is fine." Quinn smiled as she handed her the still steaming cup. "You didn't have to go get breakfast."

"I imagine it's the least I could do after last night," the brunette answered honestly.

"I seem to remember you pulling your own weight." The blonde giggled. "Does that mean I owe you lunch?"

Rachel had trouble swallowing down her latte through the sudden tightness in her throat. "I wouldn't mind lunch sometime."

Quinn sat up and stretched; the girl noticed how the detective's muscles flexed with every movement. She admired how the blonde could still look so feminine despite her obvious strength. The woman tugged her undershirt back on and joined her at the table.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like so I bought two of my favorite, Samoan Panikeke," she said bashfully. "I hope that's alright."

"I'm sure I will." Quinn smiled.

Rachel knew she needed to begin easing into things but wasn't entirely sure how to go about it.

"You slept like the dead," she commented.

"I haven't been sleeping well lately," the blonde shrugged, and for a moment she looked self-conscious. "Guess you just wore me out."

"Is it stress?" the brunette asked lightly as the woman popped one of the pastries into her mouth. "I imagine your line of work causes many a sleepless night."

Quinn shrugged. "Comes with the territory."

It was now or never. "What does probationary mean? If you don't mind me asking, of course; it sounds very taxing to say the least."

"It's not as bad as it sounds." The detective smiled. "Mostly it means my current case will determine if my partner and I become permanent detectives. It's our first case just the two of us."

"I know that feeling all too well." Rachel nodded earnestly. "So what is it? Are you allowed to say? It's not a murder or a drug deal is it?"  
Quinn chuckled, sending another trickle of excitement down the brunette's spine. "You have to be a bit more seasoned to get into the Homicide or Narcotics divisions; I'm in Burglary Unit."

"Oh," the brunette gasped, finally she was on the conversation she needed, "I've been reading about the person breaking into all those jewelry stores—the Bling-dini."

Hazel eyes rolled and the change in mood make it clear that was the exact case Quinn was assigned to, but of course Rachel already knew that.

"I don't know what idiot came up with that name." The detective groaned.

Rachel felt her face flush and prayed it wasn't noticeable. "Well, they do seem to be able to get in and out of anywhere without a trace, much like Houdini."

She sincerely hoped she didn't sound too defensive.

"I get it," Quinn sighed, "I just think it's stupid to give them this catchy name and all this publicity as though they were some sort of celebrity. They aren't Robin Hood; they aren't some kind of folk-hero in it for the greater good. They're a criminal, and if I can't catch whoever it is, it'll cost me my job."

The brunette busied herself with her food; she felt sorry for the blonde, but it wasn't her fault that the burglar was eluding the police. It wasn't her fault that the public wanted to read about it; and they had a right to. As she chewed her food slowly she decided it was time to step up her game.

"There aren't any leads at all?" she asked sympathetically after washing down a panikeke with a sip of coffee.

"I'll find something," Quinn answered with determination.

"But you haven't yet?" Rachel pressed the issue.

The blonde didn't answer, but her shoulders slumped, and she suddenly looked tired again.

"I'm sure you will," she assured her, and she meant it. "As you said, I believe the case will break wide open at any moment."

"It'd be helpful if the press would keep their damn noses out of it," the blonde seethed, making Rachel cringe. "They've turned every crime scene into a freaking circus."

"Well, there is such a thing as freedom of the press; they do have a right to report." The brunette huffed before catching herself.

She blushed again and looked down quickly.

"I know," Quinn groaned. "I know that, but do they have to—could they just stay out of the way and not take potshots at us all the time? I mean, I get it; no one likes a cop unless they need one, but I work hard. I bust ass to keep this city safe, so a little respect doesn't seem like too much to ask for once in a while."

"You're right," Rachel mumbled as guilt washed over her.

The secret reporter couldn't let that stop her—she had to stay focused.

"You know," the brunette whispered as she brought her head back up and leaned across the table slightly, "I actually have quite a good eye for details. Maybe sometime you could show me what you have. Something might stand out to me that you've over looked. A fresh set of eyes never hurt."

"Well, they are awfully pretty eyes," Quinn replied with a lopsided smile. "But that would be illegal."

Rachel batted her lashes and tried not to be swayed by the warm wave that ran through her body. "Well, no one would have to know."

"I'd know." The blonde sighed.

If she was going to push, she would have to go about it carefully.

"Yes, but only you and I would know," the brunette pointed out playfully. "We wouldn't even have to tell Mike."

Detective Quinn's eyes went wide before narrowing on her, and Rachel knew she had just messed up drastically, but she wasn't sure how. Maybe she had pushed too hard.

"I," she stammered, "I was only joking, of course; I'm not actually trying to make you—I only—"

"Playing," the blonde said casually, but her demeanor still seemed guarded. "I know I'm a little bit of a hard ass about the rules. You don't know me that well yet, though; you didn't know any better."

"Exactly." Rachel nodded with a sure smile taking over her face again.

Quinn chuckled. "You probably don't even remember my last name. I know I didn't catch yours last night."

The brunette pretended to struggle to remember. "Of course I do; now let me think—Fabray, that's it. I told you I was good with details."

The detective was out of her chair in second and she jerked the door open angrily. "Get out."

"Quinn," she huffed, "what? Why?"

"I never told you my last name," Quinn snapped. "And I'm pretty sure I never told you that my partner's name was Mike. You're a real piece of work, you know that? You're sick. Now get out!"

Rachel would have gladly followed her order, but she felt frozen in place—paralyzed by the anger in the hazel eyes that were still boring into her. Worse than that, she saw hurt swimming in them, and it made her sick to her stomach. All the brunette could manage was to shake her head and hope some sort of explication would rattle loose in the process. The blonde waited a full minute before releasing the door and hurtling around the room to collect her things.

"I'm sorry," she finally managed, and suddenly the words were tumbling out of her with little rhyme or reason. "I didn't mean for—last night—I never expected. Quinn, please forgive me. I wasn't thinking. Yes I wanted to talk to you about—but I never—it wasn't—I, I didn't plan on—"

Quinn glared at her once she finally had her pants back on. "All of this, all of it, is off the record. Do you hear me?" The blonde yelled as she slung the tote over her shoulder.

"Quinn, please," Rachel stammered.

"Save it!" the detective growled as she slammed the door behind her.

Rachel shivered in place as the queasy feeling of remorse engulfed her; she'd only wanted to get Quinn alone and see what she could find out about the case with the officer's defenses down. The brunette had never meant to allow the detective to bring her to a hotel room—or what had happened after. The reporter certainly hadn't planned on her feelings becoming so intensely overpowering, but they had. There had been a spark and Rachel hadn't been able to think straight with those hazel eyes studying her so hungrily. The last thing she had wanted was to hurt Quinn in any way, but she had a job to do. Much like the hopeful detective, the reporter was in a position to move up in her own career. It had seemed innocent at the time, when she first developed the plan, but clearly it had all gone terribly wrong.

* * *

"What's going on?" Quinn whispered to Mike.

She had heard the Chief of Police bellowing from the hallway; the woman was on a tirade in their boss's office and it was clear that Sergeant Tanaka was getting an earful.

"Someone talked to the press," her partner whispered back.

The blonde's face blanched and she snatched up the nearest paper; as she read, she hoped against hope that some sort of coincidence. It wasn't. Quinn hadn't gotten the girl's last name, but Rachel Berry was printed, black and white, under the headline, and it was useless to dream that it was a different Rachel.

"Are you going to grow a pair and control your division or am I going to have to give Sylvester the lieutenant position she's been angling for?" Police Chief Washington bellowed.

Sergeant Tananka's response was too mumbled and soft to decipher, but that didn't stop every officer in the room, save Quinn, from leaning in to try. Their boss slammed the door open and stormed out without a glance to any of them, and everyone busied themselves instantly, desperate to cover their eavesdropping. A familiar shrill whistle filled the room and they all stood to attention; the blonde dropped the paper and followed suit.

"Either one of you steps forward or I'll have all of you in my office until I know who talked," their sergeant growled. "So help me, I'll have each and every one of you back in basic academy if I have to."

"Sir," Quinn called, standing straight with her head held high despite the crushing weight of embarrassment.

The room went instantly tense, right down the air, before echoing with gasps; Quinn Fabray was nothing if not a stickler for protocol. She had an order to things, and it was well known that she had little patience for anyone who stepped out of line.

Sergeant Tanaka faltered for a second, clearly as shocked as the rest of them, before barking, "In my office, Fabray."

Mike moved to join her, but their superior shook his head quickly; Quinn nodded down at him that she was alright.

"Yes, sir," she answered clearly as she marched into his office.

He closed the door behind her and she took the seat offered to her; the man seemed unsure of what to do and she waited silently as he fumbled with the items on his desk.

"What the hell happened, Fabray?" Ken choked out before clearing his throat. "You are the last person I would expect to—"

"I didn't know," Quinn blurted out, feeling her face color. "She wasn't wearing a press badge. She didn't tell me she was a reporter; she didn't even tell me her last name. She just found me at the bar and—I didn't realize until the next morning."

Tanaka nodded gravely; sweat was already dotting his forehead, "When did this happen?"

"Three nights ago." The blonde sighed. "I was off duty; she approached me at the bar. I had seen her there before, but we never spoke."

Quinn stopped short when she felt a new wave of red hitting her cheeks; her sergeant seemed to notice because his face slowly turned an embarrassed shade of red as more sweet began to accumulate on his face.

"So, uh," he cleared his throat again, "I am guessing she, uh, pursued you under false pretences?"

"Yes," the detective admitted.

Quinn desperately wanted to break eye contact; she wanted to look anywhere but into the eyes of her sergeant right now. Her superior must have felt the same way; he swiveled his chair around and looked out the window. She let out the breath she felt she had been holding since Mike first told her what was going on.

"You've never messed up, Fabray," Tanaka said with a shrug. "That's why I picked you for this case."

"I'm sorry, sir," Quinn forced out, fighting the quiver that threatened to overtake her voice.

"It's fixable," the sergeant grunted as he turned back around, "just be more careful from here on in."

"Sir?" she gasped in disbelief—she should have been in more trouble and she knew it.

Sergeant Tanaka didn't meet her eyes. "We all go a little crazy over a pretty girl once in a while; they can string you along good and proper. You're just lucky this happens to be one situation where we can do something about it—a few calls outta do it."

Quinn remained silent; her head was spinning and she knew she was lucky, but she didn't feel it.

"Well," he piped up, "what are you doing just sitting there? Go catch that damned thief or I'll have you and your partner right back in here."

"Yes, sir," the detective snapped as she bolted from her chair.

Once again, the entire room became extra busy as she exited the office. The blonde tired to ignore it as she joined Mike at their desk.

"What—" he began.

"Bring up the evidence files," she ordered, hoping he would understand, as she opened her filing cabinet.

Detective Chang shrugged and didn't ask any more questions.

* * *

"Rachel," Jacob Israel panted as he popped his head into the hall. "A four letter word for an evening spent with yours truly tonight?"

The man did the crossword puzzles for their paper, The McKinley Caller; he also hit on her endlessly nearly every day.

"Nope," the brunette said sweetly as she rolled her eyes.

"I won't give up until I've won your love, Rachel Berry." He laughed as he wiggled his eyebrows at her. "A three letter word that is a common response to a date, and would make me a very happy man?"

"Berry!" their editor in chief bellowed down the hallway. "In my office quicker than spit in a blender!"

"Bye." Rachel laughed as she pushed past Jacob.

She hurried down the narrow hallway and into the editor in chief's office.

"The next article isn't quite ready yet, but I would be more than happy for you to evaluate what I have written so far," the brunette rattled off before noticing the look on her bosses face. "Is something wrong?"

Shannon Beiste's face was red and pensive; then again it nearly always was, and Rachel took the seat she was offered.

"I got an interesting call today," the editor commented.

"Oh?" The reporter nodded, unsure as to where this was leading.

Beiste nodded back gravely. "About yesterday's paper; some big muckety-muck down at the police station."

Once again the heavy weight from three days ago settled in Rachel's stomach; her mind raced back over everything she had said in the article.

"And?" she asked cautiously.

"Rachel, I know you're new at this," Shannon groaned, "but you have to announce yourself as press if you are going to use anyone statements. Those are the rules, even if they are petty; if someone says off the record then you don't record it. I'd think that'd be a no brainer."

"But I didn't use any direct quotes; I didn't even name my source," Rachel defended quickly, but her voice was quiet and shaky. "This is all a big misunderstanding. Anything I said I could have found out on my own with a little more digging and—"

"Did you approach the detective in question at a bar while she was off duty and flirt with her?" her editor asked point blank.

"I realize my methods may have been ill-considered," the girl said, gradually slipping into panic. "And I am very remorseful for misleading her, but I didn't use much of our conversation—she didn't even give me much information to begin with and—"

"I have to print a retraction," Miss Beiste grunted, cutting the reporter off.

Rachel gasped and her blood ran cold; The McKinley Caller tracked retractions like injuries. Their editor latterly had a board counting up how many days they had been retraction free. Being the cause of one at this point, while she was trying to prove herself and move up, felt like a kiss of death; the brunette instantly wondered if she would not only lose her chance, but her job all together as well.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Beiste," Rachel wheezed. "You must believe me when I say that I regret my actions more than you could ever know. I realize my behavior was unprofessional and completely out of line."

"You're not fired, Berry," her editor assured her. "That'd be like killing a cow just 'cause the bacon's no good."

The reporter nodded quickly; the best she could decipher her boss's meaning was that she would be back to micro editing by the end of the day. She tried to resign herself to the fact that she had just lost her chance to move up. The brunette continued to nod; perhaps she deserved it. What she had done had hurt someone, but she had only wanted to do her absolute best.

Not even Rachel, who admittedly was a big dreamer, had expected her to end up writing for the front page. Miss Beiste had given her a simple assignment, covering a single robbery at a local jewelry store, just a simple article to prove that she could handle the move from editor to journalist. Who could have guessed it would go unsolved and become one of the paper's top selling stories? All Rachel had really wanted was to take over the Caller's city arts review; William Schuester was about to retire and she had desperately wanted his position.

"Isn't there anything I can do?" Rachel begged. "Please, give me another chance to prove myself."

"What are you talking about?" Shannon scoffed.

"I could do an interest piece on the new statue going up in the park," she insisted. "Or an article on the littering fine being raised, or even some of the obits—"

"Why would I have you do that?" her editor sputtered. "This Bling-dini case is selling more papers than pretzels at beerfest."

"But," the brunette faltered.

"You're gonna keep coming covering this case til it's done," her boss stated determinedly. "Then we'll talk about all that other stuff."

"But, the retraction," Rachel breathed as she simultaneously berated herself for objecting.

"It happens," the woman shrugged, "they ain't calling for your blood. You just have to mind you're p's and q's from here on in. No more pillow talk reporting, you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," she squeaked.

"Don't ma'am me." Beiste huffed. "I tell you all not to ma'am me."

"Of course, Miss Beiste," the reporter apologized.

"Well?" Shannon shrugged. "What are you doing in here? Get writing."

Without question, Rachel bolted out of the chair and left the office quickly. She was ecstatic that she hadn't been punished, but a small part of her mind nagged that she should have been. The brunette shook her head—what's done is done. The reporter reasoned that she had learned from her mistakes, though perhaps she did need to personally apologize to Detective Fabray, but that would have to wait.

Rachel dropped her file onto her desk; at the moment, she shared a cramped office with The McKinley Caller's version of 'dear abby' instead it was called 'Brittany Thinks'. The blonde wrote about everything from dating advice to pet stories; Rachel didn't see the appeal, but the girl was kind and the readers seemed to love her. Mercifully, the office was empty and the brunette turned on her computer.

She sighed when the sinking feeling of fault didn't fade away. Rachel glanced at the framed photo of her and her fathers. Normally their smiling faces made her feel better, but her own smiling face seemed to be judging her from behind the glass as though the more innocent version of herself from years ago was asking her how she could have done such a thing. She tore her deep brown eyes away from the accusing image and they rested on her autographed picture of Streisand and Rachel sat up a little straighter.

The woman had been her role model since she was a little girl, and even though her dreams of following in Barbra's footsteps had been pushed to the side, replaced by new, more realistic aspirations, she still looked to the celebrity as a source of inspiration.

_I'm sure Barbra has done things that she regrets on her way to the top._ Rachel reasoned to herself. _It's not as though I hurt Quinn on purpose. How vexed can she even be at this point anyway? If I really apply myself, perhaps I can even find something in the case that will help her, and of course I will apologize again if given the chance. I imagine Quinn won't give it a second thought now that the retraction will be printed. Soon she'll not even remember our night together—I'm sure of it._

With that, the brunette let out a slightly less heavy sigh and the knot in her stomach loosened enough for her to focus on her typing.

* * *

"No more of the usual?" Detective Chang inquired. "It's been a week since you had me drop you off at the bar."

Quinn shot him a sharp look before shrugging. "I guess I just got tired of it."

"If I didn't know better I'd think you'd met someone," Mike commented lightly.

"Well then, it's no wonder we haven't solved this yet," the blonde snapped. "Your powers of deduction are way off."

"Really?" he mocked. "Sounds to me like I hit a nerve. Come on, we're partners; if you've met someone, I'd like to know about it. I am your friend too, you know?"

"The only person I met was a reporter willing to do anything for a story," she grumbled. "The bar was a waste of time anyway."

Quinn did her best to ignore the sympathetic look in his, eye but it was hard to miss; she turned her head quickly to scan the sidewalk. They were patrolling the various jewelry stores that had yet to be burglarized on the off chance they would notice something out of the ordinary—or at least deter any future attempts.

"It'd help if you'd focus on what we are doing." Quinn huffed.

"Do you need to talk about it?" Mike offered as though he already knew the answer. "You can't beat yourself up about it, Quinn. It wasn't your fault; that was a low move."

"I'm not," she lied. "I'm not thinking of it at all. I just want this case over and done with, don't you?"

He nodded as he steered the police car around the corner for a second sweep. Quinn was relieved to be rid of his pity for the time being. She had tried to apologize for the whole situation with the newspaper, but he hadn't let her; Mike had assured her that he wasn't angry—only worried about her. That was worse; it made her pain real when she would rather have pretended it was only anger and embarrassment. They were close; they'd been through the academy together, they had been assigned to the same beat when they joined the force, she was pretty sure they had saved each others lives a hundred times over, and when the blonde had been offered this opportunity, she hadn't hesitated to pick him as her partner on it. There was no one she trusted more. Mike had even broken with tradition and had Quinn in place of his best man when he and Tina got married. In every way she considered him as the brother she'd never had, the family she no longer had, but there were things she wasn't willing to discus with anyone, not even him.

Now Detective Fabray felt guilty for dragging him along into the Bling-dini case. There didn't seem to be any end in sight and little hope of being solved. The promotion that would come with solving the string of burglaries would do wonders for them if they could just catch a break on it. If it came down to failure, Quinn could handle that, but she couldn't deal with letting her partner down. Not when he needed the raise so much more than her—he had a baby on the way.

Quinn shook her head angrily. "Has any of the jewelry shown up in pawn shops?"

"No." Mike sighed. "Not that we know of yet. That's if the shops are being honest, but I figure the suspect might be smart enough not to try to sell it just yet. They might just be sitting on it for now."

"Or they're taking it a few towns over, out of our jurisdiction," the blonde agreed bitterly.

The radio crackled and the dispatcher called out a disturbance, an alarm at Carmel's Treasures. It was one of the businesses had their eye on, and it was on the complete opposite side of town from them. Quinn cursed under her breath as Mike flipped on the siren and stomped down on the gas. The moment they pulled up to the building, it was obvious that the criminal had gotten away, but the blonde couldn't help but smirk. The burglar had smashed out the front window—clearly they had panicked. It wasn't ideal, but it did mean a better chance that evidence would be left behind this time. For the culprit to have fled so recklessly, there was a good chance they had been cornered and perhaps seen by someone. It was more than they'd had at any other scene. The detective listened carefully to the officers who had first responded to the scene and jotted everything of interest down. Quinn cursed again with the all too familiar sound of cameras went off behind her.

Mike stepped in quickly, laying down the law and calling out 'no comment' to everyone who shouted questions at them as they secured the police tape along the sidewalk. A flash of gold caught her eye and the star necklace she remembered all too well caused her to momentarily blush. Rachel was struggling to elbow her way to the front of the crowd; Quinn leveled her with a serious glare before turning quickly on her heel and walking entering the jewelry store.

After hours of searching the scen,e it was apparent that no new evidence had be left, but people had seen—something at least. The description wasn't much to go on, but eyewitnesses were certain that it was a female figure, covered all in black, but no one could tell them much more than that. Still, it was information: a lone female suspect, slender, but, judging from the damage to the window, strong. Detective Fabray sighed as she replaced the police tape and Mike helped other officers board up the window.

"Excuse me," a small voice called out.

The timid softness of it didn't keep it from being easily recognizable and she refused to respond.

"Detective Fabray," the woman called again, more aggressively this time. "Please speak to me."

"No comment," Quinn hissed, turning her hazel eyes sharply on the brunette.

All the other reporters had left long ago and the blonde had hoped that Rachel had gone with them. Instead, the petite girl snapped her notebook shut and held up her hands.

"I have learned my lesson, I assure you," Rachel insisted. "Anything you say to me is unequivocally off the record. I merely want to express my regret over our misunderstanding and apologize."

Quinn rolled her eyes and rested her hands on her hips.

"But more than that," the brunette continued to chatter, "I thought I may be able to make amends; I have a theory about the robberies if you would be willing to listen to me for just a few minutes."

Rachel stared, waiting for a response, and Quinn almost felt inclined to take her up on her offer. Her eyes fell on the thin gold chain that now draped over a nearly healed hickey; the blonde fought back the embarrassing used feeling in her stomach. It would be foolish to give up the chance of any possible information simply because of who was offering it.

"That's it," Mike snapped as he strode past his partner. "You all had your chance. There's no more story for you here tonight."

Rachel jumped and glance between the two detectives before retreating to her car. Perhaps that was for the best; for all Quinn knew this 'information' might be another ruse. The brunette had seemed genuine, but then again, she had seemed sincere the other night as well.

"Thanks, Mike." She sighed.

* * *

Rachel gritted her teeth at the tap-tap-tapping of her coworker's typewriter. Brittany was the only person in the entire paper that didn't use a computer to write their articles; she claimed it felt more professional. The brunette tried to start the next paragraph, but she felt stuck. She let out a groan as she clicked the word document shut aggressively.

"What's the matter?" Brittany asked as she yanked her finished work out of the machine.

"I'm perfectly fine," Rachel began to lie, before sighing and giving the blonde a weak smile. "I suppose I feel a little guilty about how I handled someone lately, and powerless because when I try to make it up to them, I am incapable of making them listen."

"It's the pretty cop, isn't it?" the blonde guessed, causing the brunette to gasp. "It's okay, people make mistakes."

Rachel mulled over Brittany's words carefully. "I certainly would feel better if I could somehow prove myself to her, though. I really need her to know the truth about that night."

"Then make her listen." The girl shrugged as though it were the easiest thing in the world.

"But how exactly does one do that?" the reporter asked seriously.

She was surprised at herself for seeking advice from her coworker just like all the other 'lonely hearts' of the city did weekly.

Brittany's nose crinkled a little as she thought; Rachel sighed and looked out the window.

"I can let you print an apology in my column," the blonde offered excitedly.

"No," the brunette gasped, "no I don't think that will be necessary, but thank you. I suppose all that I can do is to make amends by covering this story as fairly as I can. Though, I wish I had more to go on; it's infuriating."

Her office mate looked at her sadly before she resumed her typing; Rachel stared at her computer. She needed to work on her article, but she had nothing new to report. All the reporter could do was wait for something to happen or for more information to fall into her lap. Rachel snatched up her purse and slung her satchel over her shoulder.

"I'm going home early," she announced. "Have a good weekend, Brittany."

"I will." Brittany beamed back at her. "San says she has something big planned."

Rachel nodded as she ducked out the door, determined to turn her day around one way or another.

* * *

What Rachel Berry needed was a stout dose of luck; the stress of finishing her next article with nothing new to report was taking its toll on her. Now, however desperate she might be, she found herself unsure of how to dig for more juicy tid-bits. Every idea that crossed her mind was instantly met with a flurry of nagging questions: is it legal, ethical, is it safe to do? All the brunette could hope for at the moment was for the city's biggest mystery to drop a clue directly into her lap, but that didn't seem likely to happen.

So, instead, she had climbed into her quirky, but functional, Beetle and drove around town for groceries. Rachel had been craving a certain dish, and since she felt somewhat miserably, she decided to treat herself, but the ingredients had been hard to collect. She had been to several stores in order to get everything she needed for the relatively simple Mushroom and Sunchoke Bisque. Her mind had been set and so giving up hadn't been an option, even though it was dark by the time she was finally able to head home. The brunette assured herself that things would look up now that she was on her way home and the roads were clear—it wouldn't take long. Rachel turned a corner only to find her favorite shortcut detoured; she paused longer at the stop sign than necessary to collect her quickly unraveling nerves.

"How can I be so utterly out of luck?" she mumbled to herself as she traced her thumb over the star around her neck. "You're supposed to be my lucky charm."

Rachel wasn't superstitious, but it was easy to think of the necklace that way; the best things she could remember seemed to happen when she wore it. It was the only thing of her birth mother's that she owned. For a brief second, the brunette wondered if she had somehow sullied it when she wore it the other night—perhaps all the negativity of the aftermath had jinxed her precious heirloom. Rachel quickly banished the thought; it was a preposterous notion and, after all, she didn't believe in that sort of thing—not really.

The reporter jumped when a car horn blared behind her and she rushed to continue on the detour. This route was unfamiliar to her and the petite driver crawled well below the speed limit while she tried to get her bearings. It seemed the longer she drove, the less she recognized anything and Rachel was ready to give up. She pulled into an empty lot and started to turn around when movement across the street caught her eye. The brunette squinted into the shadows at a dark figure pacing the corner of the building across from her. She gasped as the person came further into view—a woman dressed all in black with her face covered—and jumped up onto the dumpster along the side of the building. Her mind almost didn't register what was happening at first as the woman wrestled a small window open and began to climb inside. Rachel read the weathered letters over the building's door, Haverbrook Jewelers, and everything fell into place. She killed the engine and pulled out her cell phone quickly.

"I'd like to report a robbery in progress at Haverbrook Jewelers, at the corner of Haverbrook and Jane Addams Avenue," Rachel rattled off shakily. "I believe it may be in relation to a case being pursued by Detectives Fabray and Chang."

The brunette hung up without giving her name or any other information; she could see movement in downstairs portion of store and she rolled down the window and listened carefully. She couldn't hear an alarm, but from the look of the relatively run down little shop, she could assume they simply weren't able to afford one. Rachel instinctively scrunched down in her seat when she heard a loud noise from the back of the building; her eyes darted around the surrounding streets, looking for any sign of flashing police lights. The reporter hopped to hear the distant sound of sirens, but all she heard was shuffling in the alleyway, a door slamming, and rushed footsteps fading away. Despite her better judgment, Rachel soon found herself in the alleyway, inspecting the back door of the jewelry store, which had been left open.

* * *

Quinn spotted the point of entry quickly as they pulled up to the building; she thought business owners would know better than to practically give criminals a step ladder, but apparently this one hadn't gotten that memo.

"So who called this in?" she whispered.

"We don't know," Mike answered quietly.

They had left the siren off, hoping not to alert the burglar to their arrival; a flash of movement inside caught her eye and she felt her partner stiffen next to her. The detectives exited the car as quietly as possible; Quinn drew her weapon and Mike followed suit as they split up and circled the building in opposite directions. The blonde reached the back door first and waited for her partner to appear before stepping carefully inside. She held her breath and willed her steps not to make any sound; the sound of movement in the main room let her know she was on the right track, but the officer knew to pay attention to her surroundings nonetheless, and she checked each door she passed along the way for good measure. Quinn knew that Mike would watch her back from the back door; he would be ready to rush in or to catch the perpetrator if they somehow managed to get past her. The detective took a deep breath as she peered into the nearly pitch black room, using the light from the street to spot the outline of the intruder, and steadied her gun.

"Freeze," she yelled evenly. "This is the police; put your hands where I can see them."

In the low light she saw the silhouette jump, scream, and throw her hands over her head as she spun around.

"I'm not the burglar," the woman stammered. "Please don't shoot. I'm the one who called in the report, but the culprit left a few minutes ago. I believe she was headed east down the alleyway. Please don't shoot."

The room seemed to echo as Quinn registered where she had heard that voice before.

"Stay where you are; do not move," the blonde ordered as she shifted slowly towards the wall. "Remain where you are; you are trespassing on private property as well as a crime scene."

"I assure you, I am not moving," Rachel wheezed. "I was merely trying to help."

Quinn felt along the wall for a light switch; the brunette jumped and let out a little yelp when the room flooded with light.

"Don't shoot," the reporter pleaded again.

The detective rolled her eyes and called back down the hall to her partner.

"Could you lower your gun, please?" Rachel snapped.

"This is a crime scene," Quinn hissed at her. "What are you doing here? You are contaminating it!"

The blonde holstered her fire arm as Mike entered the room; he seemed to catch on quickly and did the same.

"I haven't touched anything," the brunette insisted. "I was trying to look for clues to help you both."

Quinn rolled her eyes again and Detective Chang pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "You can't help us look for clues, Berry."

"We'll have to take you in for criminal trespassing," Mike grumbled as he stepped forward.

"This is ridiculous!" Rachel protested as he snapped the cuffs around her wrists.

The blonde tensed and shushed them both; she listened carefully. It wasn't long before the sound of shuffling upstairs sounded again. Before the detective could retrieve her weapon there was a loud thud outside, presumably from someone landing on the lid of the dumpster, and the scrape of footsteps on the side walk. Mike shot down the hallway as Quinn glanced back to glare at Rachel.

"I thought you said the burglar left," she snapped.

"I thought that they had, obviously, or I wouldn't have endangered myself by coming inside." The brunette huffed. "I heard her running down the alleyway."

The blonde groaned and pulled the reporter none-too-gently down the hallway. The door to the large vault room was propped open with a box; Quinn rolled her eyes and shoved Rachel inside.

"What do you see?" she asked sharply.

"Lock boxes and safes?" the brunette responded in confusion.

"Yes," the detective snapped. "She came in, realized the items in the front room are low quality and decided to empty out the vault instead. She probably left to get tools or luggage to carry more loot with. This is why civilians, and the press, are not supposed to get involved."

"How exactly was I to know that?" Rachel responded shakily. "I was only trying to help. Are these really necessary?"

Detective Fabray crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "You've trespassed on a crime scene, possibly contaminated evidence, and gave the criminal opportunity to escape. So, yeah, I think they are."

"I'm sorry!" the petite reporter squeaked.

"That doesn't change anything!" the blonde retorted. "And now if Mike does catch up to the criminal, he won't even have his—"

Quinn gasped; her partner was in pursuit of the burglar, but he'd used the restraints on Miss Berry. She cursed under her breath; she should have been the one in pursuit. The blond spun around just in time to see the door to the vault slam shut. Detective Fabray could hear the locks clicking into place, but that didn't stop her from pounding against the door and trying the latch. After several angry seconds of pounding, kicking, and rattling, the door she turned back to face the other woman with her face blazing.

"What happened?" Rachel asked softly. "Is it jammed? Did the box get knocked out of place? How could that happen?"

"Shut up," Quinn snapped, sliding into a sitting position against the cold metal door.

"Don't just sit there," the brunette's voice rose a little with panic. "We need to figure out how get the door open. I don't understand how it would have shut in the first place, but it must simply be wedged; perhaps the two of us could—"

The blonde rolled her eyes and looked away.

"Are we really locked in?" the reporter stammered nervously.

Quinn didn't answer; she focused her attention on the fresh scuff marks on her shoes. All she could do now was wait and wonder. There were too many scenarios running through her mind ranging from the thief circling around without her partner noticing to the possibility that the burglar had injured him—or worse. Was Mike on his way back now or what he lying out on the street in need of help?

"Who would have locked us in?" Rachel gasped.

The brunette was clearly uncomfortable being confined, but that was the least of Quinn's worries.

"She snuck up on us, again," Quinn grumbled. "I would have heard her if you hadn't been busy whining about the handcuffs."

"Maybe you would have heard her if you hadn't been screaming at me," the petite girl flared.

The women fell silent with the blonde staring the brunette down; Rachel's eyes widened and she began to pace the small room. As Quinn watched her shuffle back and forth in the cramped vault, she became increasingly aware of how confined the space really was. It began to seem even smaller when girl began to mutter to herself.

"I didn't even want this case," the reporter was saying. "I don't even enjoy covering it in the least."

"You could have fooled me." She huffed.

Surprisingly, the petite woman wheeled on her. "I will say this one last time, Detective Fabray; that night in the hotel room was never part of my plan. I only intended to speak with you at the bar; perhaps that wasn't the most above board of plans, but what happened that night was not merely a ploy to extract information from you. Therefore, I refuse to feel guilty about it a moment longer. I have tried to apologize and you can either accept it or not. I enjoyed it, and you seemed to enjoy it quite a bit yourself. As I said, I should have left it at that and never pursued the topic of your work afterwards, but at the time I was simply not thinking clearly. I let my exceptional tendency to overachieve blind my judgment, but that is all. We are both accomplished adults who chose to partake, and I will not stand by and be treated as though I were some sort of common street walker! I've never done anything like that with anyone before, so do not delude yourself to believe that you are the only one who was a bit shocked and taken aback by the entire situation. I'm done."

Quinn gasped and, despite herself, found herself smirking at the brunette, who resumed her pacing in double time.

"I enjoyed it too," she admitted sheepishly.

Rachel stopped and gaped at her for a moment before speaking. "Does this mean that you will finally forgive me?"

"I thought you didn't care if I forgave you or not," Detective Fabray chuckled, "but sure, you're off the hook. Like you said, we're both adults."

Rachel sighed and sat down; she was clearly having some balance issues due to her arms being pinned behind her and struggled against her restraints lightly.

"Since I am forgiven," the brunette began.

"The handcuffs never had anything to do with me being angry with you," Quinn stopped her. "I'm afraid they have to stay on until we take you to processing."

"Processing?" the girl's voice pitched.

Just like that, the girl was up and pacing again, venting about her life and career being sullied by a criminal record. Before Quinn could even think to calm her down, they heard Mike's voice echoing through the door. The brunette came to a halt and the blonde let out a deep sigh of relief.

"In here," she yelled. "Mike, we're locked in here!"

It felt very much like a game of Marco Polo before Detective Chang's voice came in much clearer through the door; he assured them that they would get them out as soon as they located the owner, though Mike was unsure of how long that may take. Her partner promised he would return soon and then his voice grew distant once again, and Rachel resumed her patrol of her side of the vault.

* * *

Rachel felt suffocated, and the thought that they very well could be running out of air wouldn't leave her mind. She ached from her wrists to her shoulders. Her breath was coming shallow and quick; part of her knew she wasn't in any danger, but the other half of her mind raced a mile a minute, calculating just how fast her life and career were plummeting. A retraction, and now she was apparently under arrest, and she couldn't breathe.

"Rachel," Quinn groaned, "quit pacing; we will be out soon."

"And what then?" she retorted. "I'll get out of here only to be locked in cell mere minutes later."

"Don't be stupid." The blonde laughed. "The odds are you won't even see holding. The most they will do is have you pay a fee and you'll be on your way."

"Not with my luck thus far, I believe." The brunette sighed.

"Well, you don't have to count on luck," the detective shrugged, "because I'm going to advise that you didn't actually damage the scene."

Her lips twitched at the corners, but it wasn't much comfort to her; she was still imagining the embarrassment of being led into the police station in handcuffs and the mark on her pristine record.

"Seriously, you have to stop pacing," Detective Fabray insisted. "You're driving me crazy."

Rachel did her best to stand still, but her body twitched despite her best efforts. "Then distract me."

"How?" Quinn scoffed.

"I don't know," she admitted before firing off the first thing that came to mind. "Tell me why you decided to pursue a career as a detective."

The blonde blinked and shook her head, and the brunette resumed her pacing; all she could think of was how the room seemed to shrink by the second.

"Pops," the detective declared. "I joined the academy because of Pops; if you sit still and be quiet, I'll tell you all about it."

Rachel stopped across from the other woman and shimmed her way down into a sitting position.

"Off the record," Quinn clarified.

"Absolutely, unequivocally off the record," Rachel agreed.

Detective Fabray had a far off look in her eye and she was quiet for what seemed like an eternity before she shook herself and began.

"When I was in high school, I got in the worst possible trouble; I got pregnant, and at the time that seemed like the end of the world. I guess it kind of was for me."

"But," the reporter piped up, earning her a sharp look for breaking one of the rules already.

"I got pregnant," Quinn stated flatly. "I hadn't dealt with my sexuality at that point, alright, so things happen. I tried to hide it, but eventually my parents found out about the baby and they kicked me out. So, I ended up in a women's shelter until the baby was born, Beth, and I gave her up. It didn't take long for me to realize that was the biggest mistake of my life. I know it was the right thing to do for her—I know it in so many ways, but it hurt more than I ever could have imagined."

Rachel found herself wondering if her own mother had ever felt the same way, but she focused her attention back on Quinn and nodded.

"I left the shelter the night they took Beth, and I was hell bent on destroying myself one way or another," the blonde explained. "And before you knew it, I was in real trouble. I won't go into too many details; I just let myself get involved in anything. I used people and I let them use me; I'm damn lucky that things weren't worse and I wasn't like that for longer than I was."

The detective paused; Rachel listened along with her for any sounds from the other rooms, but there were none. The brunette was suddenly oddly glad that no one was here to let them out yet; she was quickly becoming engrossed in the story of Quinn Fabray. The blonde sighed and shrugged.

"Then Pops found me; of all the ways to get caught, it was a freaking truant officer who picked me up because I wasn't in school."

"I didn't think there were truant officers anymore," Rachel blurted.

"There are; Burt Hummel was the best," Quinn answered with a smile. "He could have just drug me back home or thrown me in the system, but he didn't. I don't know why, but he said he saw something in me; he said I was more than I was letting myself be, and he just took me home for the night. Just like that. You can't imagine what went through my mind on the ride there, and then he takes me inside and there's his son in an apron fussing over dinner like it's the most normal thing in the world for him to bring in strays."

The detective had a far off look in her eye like she was seeing something very special that Rachel wasn't privy to and it made her even more interested to hear more. The brunette cleared her throat and waited for the woman to continue.

"I started calling him Pops that night. I was trying to be surly and rude; I was doing my damndest to push Mr. Hummel away, and I've called him that ever since, mostly to piss off Kurt. It was like no matter how nasty or sour I was to him, Pops didn't care; he seemed to see right through it. I was so lucky; he fought a lot harder than I deserved. He was more of a father to me than mine had ever been, and I have to give Kurt credit; I might never have snapped out of it if he hadn't so kindly told me to stop being a skank."

Rachel gasped and the blonde laughed. "I deserved it; I needed the reality check, so by the time I turned eighteen, Kurt was headed to NYADA, and I decided it was time to pay my dues and take care of Pops for a change. His health was fading; I spent a lot of time listening to him talk about being on the force before his wife died. He talked about how it gave him so much purpose and when he died, I just knew. I knew it was what I should do."

"He inspired you." She nodded sadly, feeling for the woman's loss, though they barely knew each other.

"He saved me," Quinn corrected, "in more ways that I can count."

Rachel squirmed against the wall; it was uncomfortable and hard to keep her balance. The blonde chuckled as she made her way over to help, but the brunette tumbled nonetheless, and she let out a yelp as her shoulder crashed against the concrete floor. Quinn quickly sat her back up and brushed her hair out of her face gently.

"You okay?" the detective asked.

"I believe so," Rachel replied. "But it would be a stretch to say that I am completely alright."

She felt the other woman's finger glide underneath the necklace and along the chain.

"You're always wearing this," the blonde commented lightly.

"It's a long story," she breathed.

"Seems like we have time," Quinn pointed out as she let the charm fall back against the girl's skin. "I told you mine."

The woman had a point; she had told Rachel something very personal about herself, but still, it wasn't something the petite girl was used to discussing. She couldn't seem to think with those hazel eyes piercing her own; the brunette simply stared dumbly back and held her breath. Before she knew it, Quinn's lips crashed against hers, and she was being pushed back against the wall. It hurt, but the pain seemed numbed by the pressure of the blonde's kiss, and Rachel didn't care. She felt the detective's arm slipping behind her back and she parted her lips to deepen the kiss.

"Quinn," Mike called as he pounded on the vault door. "You okay in there?"

The detective shimmed away from her quickly and answered, "We're fine. What's taking so long?"

Rachel managed to brush the back of her hand against her lips before even realizing that her cuffs had been removed; she gaped at Quinn, who only shrugged and winked back at her.

"It took forever to locate the owner," the other detective was explaining. "He, the manager, and assistant manager are all in Zurich for some kind of seminar. On top of that, he's half deaf and refused to let anyone translate for him so it took forever just to get permissions for a locksmith."

"How much longer?" Quinn called out.

"Locksmith is on his way," he answered. "He said twenty minutes at most."

The blonde knocked lightly on the door before turning back around. Rachel stood easily and rubbed her wrists; she wanted to close the space between them, but she also wasn't sure what had just happened between them.

"You uncuffed me," she said, instead of you kissed me.

"Yeah, well," the woman smirked, "where are you gonna run away to?"

"So, if I'm not in jail tomorrow—" Rachel began.

"You're not going to be in jail, Berry." Quinn laughed.

"So, I will be free and you will have the day off?" the brunette asked.

The blonde's eyebrow raised and Rachel felt her cheeks warm. "Before I knew better, I did a tiny bit of stalking you, alright? So, thanks to that, I might have estimated your schedule for next month."

Quinn blinked and rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything.

"Theoretically," she continued, "if we both have the day free, would you want to get coffee? Or lunch?"

"I don't know." The detective sighed.

"Completely off the record, of course," Rachel added before a thought suddenly struck her. "Where is the owner, again?"

"Zurich," the blonde answered.

The reporter pulled out her notebook and flipped through the pages quickly, jotting down the place, time, and location of the owner before snapping the book shut once again and stuffing it back into her pocket.

"What's that about?" Quinn asked.

"I—I think I may have a theory as to what connects the establishments that have been burglarized," Rachel explained. "I would be happy to share it with you, if you are interested."

Detective Fabray laughed. "Fine, Rachel, I'll have lunch with you."

The brunette opened her mouth to protest that her theory was not a ploy, but snapped it shut just as quickly and smiled. Detective Chang knocked on the door to indicate that they locksmith had arrived and Quinn slipped Rachel her number before snapping her back into the handcuffs, though she left them noticeably looser than before.

* * *

"Can you explain yourself, Fabray, or is that too much to ask?" the police chief bellowed.

Quinn squared her jaw and tried to look unaffected by her superior's presence and tone; she'd been called into work on her day off and escorted directly to Sergeant Tanaka's office, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"The perpetrator escaped," she stated evenly. "While I and a civilian was locked in the vault of the scene."

Chief Washington slammed her palms down on Tanaka's desk. "Why are you telling me what I already know? Do you think it escaped my attention that the criminal that is making a laughing stock of my entire precinct escaped capture last night? You think I didn't notice that one of the city's 'finest', if you think you deserve to be called that, spent hours locked up in a glorified broom closet like some bad TV sitcom? Do you think I have time to hold your hand through this entire investigation so that you don't break a nail? Because I can tell you that this is not a daycare for aspiring security guards."

"Sir," Quinn replied, "if you could tell me what you want to know, I'd be glad to tell you. Unless you feel we have time to play guessing games."

She'd kept her tone even and respectful and Roz worked her jaw angrily with her arms crossed; the blonde seemed to be the only officers that wasn't terrified by the chief, and that seemed to infuriate the woman.

"I suppose you don't see anything wrong with how you handled last night," the police chief snapped. "I guess to you letting the burglar get away scot-free, leaving your partner to face them alone—possibly even endangering his life—isn't serious to you."

"It is," the detective answered, standing up straighter. "I regret my failures last night, but I had no choice at the time, Chief Washington."

"Then explain to me why the civilian—no, the reporter—who caused all this in the first place left the station last night with barely a slap on the wrist?" her commanding officer demanded.

"Miss Berry was unaware of the law she was breaking," Quinn defended. "And she was just as much a victim as I was once we were locked in."

"Bullshit!" Roz flared. "Ignorance of the law is no excuse. Fabray, how many felons would be running free if we just believed them when they said 'oh golly, I didn't know'? She was the direct distraction that led to the thief's escape."

"That doesn't make it her fault," the detective interjected. "If a child, or a concerned passerby had gone into the building, it would have been the exact same situation except they wouldn't have called the police in the first place most likely."

"If if's-and-but's," the police chief began but stopped herself. "She's the press, Fabray, so when they step outta line you gotta stomp their toes hard to set an example. This isn't just about last night—mark my words, your next scene will be crawling with reporters who will know you're a softie."

Quinn swallowed hard; she had gone easy on Rachel, but it had been the right thing to do. Roz Washington stormed past her towards the door.

"I don't want to hear so much as a rumor about you and that little reporter again, you hear me?" the woman ordered from the doorway, no doubt to give the detective's coworkers a front row seat to her browbeating. "You find yourself a girlfriend on your own time. If Miss Berry's at the scene, you don't so much as look in her direction. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir, you're clear," Detective Fabray barked as the door slammed shut.

Moments later, Sergeant Tanaka popped his head back into the office. "You're dismissed, Fabray."

With that, Quinn nodded and dashed out of the police station; she was almost late to go meet Rachel and she didn't want the girl to think she was standing her up.

* * *

"I was tempted to believe you were going to stand me up," Rachel chirped as Quinn hurried into the coffee shop and took a seat.

"I got called into work, that's why I'm late," the blonde apologized.

The brunette's eyebrows knitted together and the detective instantly felt uncomfortable; she would need to explain what had happened, but she didn't want to get into it so soon. Quinn felt awkward, to say the least; their relationship—if it could be called that—was strange and getting stranger every day. Rachel was still staring at her with a concerned and curious look.

"So, what's this theory of yours?" Quinn asked with a shrug.

"I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that consistently with each burglary the owners and sometimes even the managers have been out of town," Rachel began, pulling out her notebook quickly. "In the first instance, the owner-manager was in California for her daughter's wedding. In the next, the owner was in Canada for his father's surgery. The third jewelry store to be burglarized, the owner, manager, and assistant manager were all at a meeting in New York about a possible merger with a larger franchise. The fourth business to fall prey's owner doesn't live in the city and the manager was in Hawaii on her honeymoon. The case after that was the same, only the manager was in New Zealand for vacation, and the last found the owner and manager in Zurich for a jewelry conference."

The brunette finally broke off with a serious look and waited for the blonde to respond.

"Yeah, it's been inconvenient," Quinn sighed, "but people take vacations and have business meetings all the time; I don't see how it could be anything other than coincidence."

"Well I do not believe that it is coincidence at all," Rachel insisted. "Aside from the fact that all the businesses have been jewelry stores, it is the only similarity between them. For that fact alone, I feel it has to be considered. Think about it. Every store has been different locations with no clear pattern, different levels of security, but not in a manner that would suggest that the criminal is improving their skills, and different quality of merchandise. There is no pattern other than the key people of authority being absent at the time of the theft."

"It's still a long shot, Rachel." The detective sighed; she knew the reporter was trying to help. "But why? And how? Am I supposed to call up ever jewelry store in the city and ask them what their vacation plans are on a hunch?"  
The brunette crossed her arms and huffed; the look on the petite woman's face suddenly made Quinn feel self-conscious.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Rachel stated. "Somehow, the burglar knows that the absence of the owner makes your investigation harder; she knows that it slows you down. At the very least she may just suspect that security and protocol will be more lax without the manager present—perhaps both considerations are a factor. Somehow, she knows when they are going to be gone. I haven't figured that out yet, but I intend to."

The blonde stirred her coffee slowly; it was a good theory, to be honest, and it was more than she'd had to consider before.

"I guess I could call a few of the top watch businesses and ask if anyone is planning to be out of town any time soon." She nodded. "Just in case."

Rachel smiled proudly and took a sip of her tea; Quinn smiled back and felt her cheeks warming. She thought it was strange that she could feel so suddenly nervous around the girl; they'd already slept together, after all, but she still found herself feeling giddy and shy—and at a loss for what to talk about now that their conversation seemed to be over.

"So," Quinn cleared her throat.

"So," Rachel asked, "when were you planning on following up on my theory?"

The blonde blinked and stammered. "It's my day off."

"But it's not your partner's day off," the brunette pointed out.

The detective pulled out her phone and began texting while she spoke. "You really have been stalking us, huh?"

"Had," Rachel corrected. "I had been—past tense."

"Well," Quinn sighed, "Mike will look into it. So, I guess it is my turn. You said you would tell me about that necklace."

The reporter's fingers reflexively traced over the charm around her neck, but she batted her eyes and gave Quinn a small smirk. "That's really more of a story to be told on a date."

"And this isn't a date?" The detective gasped.

"No, not traditionally," Rachel informed her. "Traditionally a date is declared as one."

Quinn smiled. "I didn't peg you as the traditional type."

The brunette seemed to squirm a little under her gaze. "Well, I am, on certain things. At heart I am."

"So, you're not going to tell me?" she pouted.

"Are you saying that you're not going to ask me out on a real date?" the woman asked, her voice sounding like she was straining to be casual.

"I might," Quinn said lightly. "When do you have free? Since you obviously know when I will be available. Maybe you should be the one to ask me."

Rachel's cheeks colored and that made Quinn feel a little more comfortable; in a strange way, it was good to know that she wasn't the only one unsure of where they stood. However, it wasn't helping speed things along.

"Well," the brunette began, "I do have your number."

Quinn couldn't be sure if the woman was playing hard to get or if she was actually uninterested.

"Perhaps," Rachel added, "if my theory is correct, you could give me the slightest of heads up on the location? If I am able to get my reporting done early, we could have dinner to celebrate the capture of the elusive Bling-dini."

"About that." Quinn sighed; she had been hoping she wouldn't have to discuss this today. "I can't do that, Rachel."

"I don't mean that as any form of blackmail," Rachel stammered out quickly. "Of course I want to go out with you either way. I was merely being playful, or attempting to be."

"I know," the blonde said softly. "But, I mean, I can't tell you anything about the case that you don't already know."

The reporter squinted slightly. "I have checked the ethics on this matter quite thoroughly and there are some things you are allowed to tell me. I'm not asking for anything earth-shattering, and I'm in no way demanding information. If you're uncomfortable sharing this with me because of before, well, I don't know what to do to prove to you otherwise because I, of course, do still need to do my job."

"It's not that," Quinn assured her quickly. "Really, it's not that. I know it's your job, but it's my job too. Look, the chief is on my ass for letting you off the hook last night, and if anyone thinks I'm giving you special treatment, it's going to be my job."

"You can't be serious." Rachel gasped, her mouth dropping open as the news sunk in. "You're serious?"

The blonde took in a deep breath and nodded her head. "Yeah, and I was thinking, maybe it would be best if you—well, if you didn't come to the scene if there is another robbery."

Even as she was saying it, Quinn knew her suggestion wasn't going to be taken well. She might not know Rachel very well, or hardly at all, but there were many things about the brunette that she felt she could sense. The detective saw a flash of hurt in the woman's deep brown eyes before their softness hardened and a look of indignation registered across the reporter's face.

"I have a right to be there!" Rachel objected. "You cannot honestly expect—my career is on the line as well, and it's every bit as important to me as yours is to you. If I can only finish covering this case, they will give me the position I truly want. How can you even dream that I would just—just—"

"Forget I said anything," Quinn muttered. "Just don't be offended if I don't acknowledge you on the scene because it will be bad for both of us."

The brunette still looked hurt and flustered; the blonde hated that she had upset her, but she couldn't think of a better way to explain it, and there was no taking it back. So, instead, she put on a cool unaffected face and shrugged.

"So, if I am understanding you correctly," the girl asked, "you would like our 'connection' not to be public? I am to be some sort of secret on-the-side girl?"

"What?" she gasped. "No, that's not what I'm saying; I just think—"

"You know what I think, Quinn Fabray?" Rachel interrupted. "I think that you are ashamed of me. You don't want your buddies to see you talking to me because of some macho-police-bravado because I'm part of the press."

The detective nearly spat out her drink and quickly sat her coffee down. "That is not it."

"Well then, you obviously have no interest in me." The brunette huffed.

"What?" The blonde stammered.

"Clearly you can tell that I am attracted to you," Rachel rattled off. "And you are attempting to use that to keep me out of the way without having to actually reciprocate any of those feelings."

Quinn was at a loss; the entire situation had become too jumbled and confusing for her to sort out, and she felt her hands shaking as she reached for her coffee. Amid the uproar of the situation, her mind seemed to irritatingly catch on the fact that Rachel had said she was attracted to her—even though considering the context, there were more important issues to focus on. She was desperate to regain her composure and control of the conversation, but her hands continued to shake, and before long she had spilled her coffee down the front of her shirt and she cursed.

"Sorry," Quinn hissed, seeing the reporter's reaction to her language. "Excuse me."

* * *

Rachel stared after Quinn as she headed towards the bathroom and, once again, found herself conflicted. The reporter was angry that the detective wanted to box her out of the investigation, but on a more personal level, she was frustrated with herself for, once again, letting her work ambitions interfere with their relationship.

_Relationship?_ Rachel thought to herself. _Does this qualify as a relationship?_

The brunette clearly wanted it to be, or at least she wanted to see where this, whatever it would be called, went. She noticed that Quinn's phone had been splattered by the coffee that had been spilled and she snatched it up to clean it off; it was the least she could do and perhaps it could be a sort of piece offering for her outburst. Rachel wished she wasn't so prone to emotional displays, but that was just her—she was a passionate person. She wondered if the blonde realized that she was only behaving this way because she was so attracted to her, but it was a long shot to hope that.

The detective's phone vibrated in her hands, jerking her out of her thoughts, and she read the text that scrolled across the top of the screen. Instinctively she sat the phone down and pulled out her notepad and jotted down the dates and locations that Detective Chang had sent. Rachel stared down at information before shaking her head.

_This isn't right_, she chastised herself as she ripped out the sheet and crumpled it up. It was exhausting listening to the proverbial angel and daemon on her shoulders, but their bickering raged on as she contemplated career over personal life.

"Alright," Quinn said with a sigh as she sat down. "How do we settle this?"

Rachel jumped again, too caught up in her inner struggle to notice the blonde's return, and shrugged, giving her a weak smile.

"Perhaps it would be best, for the time being, if we simply didn't discuss work at all," she offered.

The brunette didn't like the idea very much—she wasn't even sure if she could manage it—but it would certainly make things easier. The detective arched an eyebrow and didn't seem too convinced.

"Are you sure that you can do that?" Quinn chuckled.

Rachel shrugged again. "I can try at least."

"I'd appreciate it." The blonde sighed. "Rachel, I don't know what's going on between us to be honest. I know it's crazy, and really, it'd be easier if we just went our separate ways, but—I don't know. There's just a connection here; I can feel it, or I think I do. Am I crazy? Is it just me?"

The brunette felt her cheeks warm, both with guilt over spying on the woman's phone and excitement. She shook her head quickly.

"No, I feel it too," she admitted. "But, perhaps you are right. Maybe we should wait until this case has been settled."

Quinn nodded, dropping her head slightly, and Rachel sighed as they fell into silence once again.

"Would you like to go on a date Saturday?" the blonde asked, breaking the quiet between them.

"Yes," The brunette answered quickly with a giggle.

The detective laughed. "Well, so much for waiting, I suppose."

"Well," the reporter teased back, "perhaps I merely have faith that you will break the case by then."

Quinn smiled and Rachel let out satisfied sigh; things were far from ideal, but she was nothing if not resourceful and determined. Somehow she would make everything work. She would find a way to do her job without involving the officer.

* * *

Rachel typed quickly at her desk; the rhythmic tap-tap-tapping of the keyboard seemed to drive her deeper into the writing zone so much so that she didn't hear her office-mate enter the room and begin work on her typewriter or the knock at the door a few moments later. The reporter nearly leapt out of her skin when her unannounced guest rapt his knuckled on her desk. Jacob was talking before she could even collect herself from the interruption.

"A three letter word that will score you tickets to the opera with me this Saturday night," he said as he waved the tickets in front of her slowly.

Rachel rolled her eyes at him. "Gay; I'm gay Jacob, for the last time."

"No one believes that, Berry; you're simply playing hard to get." Jacob chuckled as he turned to Brittany. "You don't believe she is gay, do you?"

The blonde nodded her had quickly with a big smile on her face; the man looked ready to argue when their editor ambled into the already cramped room.

"Something the matter with your office, Israel?" Beiste muttered and the man shuffled away without another word. "I need a word with you, Berry."

Brittany stood quickly, said, "I have lunch with San anyway," and hurried out the room, closing the door behind her.

Rachel saved her work and hopped out of her chair. "How may I help you?"

"You can sit back down," the woman grunted. "We need to talk about the draft you sent me this morning."

The brunette tilted her head as she tried to remember. "I didn't send you a draft. I sent you tomorrow's article. Is there something wrong with it?"

"Yeah there's something wrong," the editor huffed, "it ain't about the robbery."

"Of course it is," Rachel stammered. "Did I—could I have sent you the wrong file?"

"It's about the police," Beiste explained. "You didn't so much cover the Bling-dini; you wrote a puff piece on the police department. I already printed the retraction; you don't have to suck up to them, Berry."

"I wasn't," the reporter gasped, "I just—there isn't much information on the case that hasn't already been said and I feel that the general public doesn't understand the effort that the police officers go through. It's a fresh take on the situation. I feel that—"

"It won't sell," The woman interrupted gruffly.

"But it's the truth." Rachel pouted.

"It needs re-written, Berry, end of story." Her boss groaned. "Most of it's fine; it's just going to take some editing to weed it out. I need it by the end of the day."

With that, the editor left the room and Rachel sunk down in her seat. It wasn't fair; her article was perfectly fine, but now she would have to scrap most of it for no better reason than your average citizen didn't like the police. With a heavy sigh, the reporter set to work editing.

An hour later, her coworker returned to find Rachel glaring angrily at the screen; the brunette looked up just in time to see the blonde's ecstatic smile fade away into a worried pout.

"What happened?" Brittany asked anxiously.

"I have to rewrite tomorrows article because it was 'too nice' to the police," she fumed. "Beiste called it a puff piece—a puff piece! So now I am expected to pluck newsworthy material out of thin air simply to make it more 'catchy'. On top of which, now that I have done that, I have nothing left to work with for the following article."

The girl looked increasingly worried, and when Rachel finished, she sat down dejectedly on the brunette's desk. "Can I help?"

Rachel sighed and shut down her computer. "No, I simply need to be distracted from this whole situation for the time being until I am able to compose myself."

Brittany smiled brightly. "Then I can help," she squealed as she stuck out her hand to reveal a very large engagement ring.

"Oh my goodness!" The reporter gasped. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? Congratulations! Here I was prattling on and burdening you—"

Rachel broke off her apology and stood to hug the girl before examining the ring more closely. Brittany practically vibrated with excitement as she gave her every detail of the proposal, including some knowledge the brunette felt she could have lived without.

"It's lovely," she breathed.

"I know, I guess they gave San a promotion at work or something because we were really scraping by until lately and I wasn't expecting anything like this," the blonde chattered. "The one I'm getting isn't nearly as good."

The girl suddenly looked as though she might cry, and Rachel quickly hugged her again. "Hush, that won't matter in the least, I assure you."

"I'm just worried; I want to give her the best like she gave me," Brittany sniffled, "and I'm worried that the store I have it on lay away at will be robbed. You know the little one down the street?"

"Nonsense," the reporter soothed. "I'm sure it's not a target. Now let's not think of what-if's; you should be out celebrating—you and Santana should take the day together."

"She has work; she can't get off, but she says she has a surprise for me very soon," Brittany said happily.

"Where does she work again?" Rachel asked.

"New Directions Travel Agency." The blonde answered.

"Travel agencies," the brunette mumbled to herself, her mind suddenly falling back on the case once again. "That is something to consider."

"Huh?" Brittany hummed.

"Oh, nothing." Rachel shrugged. "Well, if Santana is unable to celebrate with you then let me take you out, instead. There's no need for us to be cramped up in this office anymore today."

"And I can show you the ring I have picked out," the girl squeaked excitedly as she half danced her way out of the room.

"Sound like a wonderful plan," Rachel called after her. "I'll just collect my things."

The reporter took a moment to send a quick text to Detective Fabray suggesting she look into travel agencies for possible culprits. It shouldn't be hard to cross reference people with criminal pasts that work in that field—it was worth a shot. The brunette also intended to ask Brittany if any of her fiancé's coworkers had begun behaving oddly lately. Perhaps she would luck out and help catch the elusive Bling-dini after all.

* * *

Once again, Rachel found herself outside of a darkened jewelry store front, only this time it had nothing to do with luck or chance. Despite destroying the paper with the information and dates, she couldn't erase the knowledge that this shop, along with one other, was a prime target. No matter how many times she had told herself that she shouldn't be here, the ambitious reporter hadn't been able to stay away. Rachel had nearly called Quinn several times, but then she would remember that she wasn't supposed to be here and that the less the detective knew of her activities, the safer they would both be. She was actually a little offended to note that in the past few hours she had not seen a patrol car pass, but nothing really seemed to be happening so it might have been for the best.

The brunette was about to call it quits, but couldn't bring herself to do so without at least taking a closer look and so, carefully, she locked her car and made her way across the street. Rachel wasn't eager to make the same mistake as before; she took a flashlight with her, had a can of mace ready in her other hand, and moved slowly and carefully. Nothing seemed out of order and she cautiously made her way around the back of the store in complete certainty that she would find nothing of interest there as well. Once around the corner, however, she found the back door to the building propped open and she rushed to investigate. The hall was dark and empty, but the brunette didn't make the same mistake this time; she backed away from the building and quickly dialed 911. Rachel fumbled with the flashlight and mace as she whispered the details over the phone; the can fell out of her hand, followed immediately by her light source. As she crouched down to collect the items, she felt something heavy connect with the back of her head and everything went dark as she tumbled to the ground.

* * *

Quinn bounded out of the car the moment it stopped at the scene. "I told you we should have been canvassing this area."

"Two stores had managers on vacation," Mike groaned. "The chief made the other one priority."

"I know," the detective grumbled. "The least she could have done was send another team to watch this one as well. Did we find anything on the travel agency lead?"

"You mean the hot tip from your girlfriend?" her partner teased, earning him a sharp look. "None of the hits matched the description of the perp."

Quinn sighed; the front door to the store was open and it seemed the burglar was gone already once again. This case seemed to be never ending, and even the leads seemed to take her nowhere. Upon closer inspection, the building was definitely empty, but very few items had been taken, meaning the 911 call that had alerted them to the break in had interrupted the criminal once again—it was of little comfort to her.

"There's no one here." Mike sighed.

"We still have to look for clues," Quinn replied wearily as she made her way around the back of the building.

_Come on footprints, tire tracks, anything,_ she inwardly pleaded to any higher power that would listen. As though in answer to her prayers, her flashlight reflected over a small glint of metal on the ground; Quinn stopped to inspect it more closely. There was no mistaking where it came from; the cluster of stars lay in the gravel and was identical to the charm that Rachel always wore. The detective snatched it up quickly despite the fact that it was technically evidence, and tucked it safely into her pocket. She hurried back around the building and looked around; this time, she spotted the reporter's car across the street. The blonde wanted to believe that the brunette was merely hiding, not wanting to be discovered at yet another scene and get either of them in trouble. Quinn felt in the pit of her stomach that the situation was probably much worse than that.

Detective Fabray turned on her heel and returned to the place she had found the necklace; as she swept the light over the area, she noticed definite signs of a struggle and panic began to set in.

"Mike!" she yelled.

"What? Did you find something?" her partner panted as he rushed out the back door.

"Look," Quinn stated as she reached past him to turn on the lights. "I think whoever made the call might have been taken hostage."

"Oh," Mike nodded, "okay, we'll call it in."

The blonde nodded, unsure of why she hadn't told him the whole story, and headed for their vehicle. The moment she finished on the radio, she headed over to Rachel's car and pulled out her cell. Quinn paced as it rang and eventually went to voicemail.

"Rachel, if you are alright, I need you to call me ASAP. I'm at your car, I'm freaking out, and I don't know where you are. Just—please be okay," she stammered before hanging up.

Detective Chang called her back over and Quinn cast a nervous glance back at the Beetle before returning to the scene. The press was already arriving and there was little more she could do without drawing too much attention and suspicion. The detective threw herself into the building, determined to finish her work quickly. Before long, a second set of detectives pulled up, a pair from missing persons that had been sent to join the investigation. When Detectives Hudson and Evans exited the vehicle, she was crestfallen; she didn't know them well, but the few encounters they'd had didn't leave her feeling very confident in their abilities—but it was better than nothing. Detective Fabray hurried over to show them the area behind the store.

"You can see here," she explained, "someone was clearly drug through the gravel."

"I don't know," Finn grumbled. "It could have been a duffle or something, or anything."

"But it starts here, not at the door," Quinn snapped.

"I'm just saying," Detective Hudson groaned, "you can't just assume that someone's been kidnapped yet."

"But we'll look into it," Sam added softly.

"I found this," Detective Fabray added, pulling out the necklace and handing it over, reluctantly, to the blonde.

"You moved evidence?" Finn gasped. "Why would you do that? Are you stupid?"

Her eyes narrowed on him and she was glad to see him flinch at her stare. "I moved it because it was outside and I was afraid the press would interfere with it."

It wasn't true, but it was a passable explanation.

"We'll look into it," Sam assured her, giving her a curious look when she didn't step away. "I'll let you know what we find."

Quinn still couldn't quite manage to return inside and the dark haired detective physically stepped forward and nudged her toward the door, though it was with extreme caution.

"Don't you have, like, a case of your own you're supposed to be solving?" he grunted.

"Quinn, we're pretty much done here; we should go," Mike called, and the blonde shot Finn another sharp look that made the man flinch once again.

"Coming," she yelled back as she slowly made her way through the building.

* * *

Quinn was hoping against the facts that Rachel's car would be gone when she returned to the scene; part of her wanted to believe that she had overacted, that her imagination had gotten the better of her. Hours later, however, the little car was still parked in the exact same spot. The detective had waited until everyone had left and it was early morning when she stood by the vehicle once again and pulled her phone back out. She waited for the voicemail; it was a good sign that the phone hadn't been shut off all together.

"Rachel—Rach—I don't know where you are, but if you don't show up soon, I'm going to file a missing person's report." Quinn tried to keep her voice even and unaffected.

The blonde hung up and pulled out the Slim Jim she had brought along and easily unlocked the driver's side door. She chuckled a little to herself; she hadn't actually learned this method in academy. It was a skill she'd picked up in her darker days, and she momentarily wondered what Rachel would think of her breaking into her car. Quinn riffled through the book bag on the passenger side seat; it was mostly pamphlets and brochures for various travel agencies around town. It was clear that the reporter was researching her theory very aggressively, but it didn't really help the detective. She was busy wondering if Rachel was alright. One brochure was pinned to a notepad and the blonde flipped through the notes. Her cell chimed which caused Quinn the jump and actually let out a little yelp.

She rolled her eyes at herself and checked the screen; her heart leapt when she saw that it was from the reporter's cell and she read it quickly. **Chillax, I'm just out late. Gettin my mac on. I'll be back when I'm back super-cling.** Needless to say it was clearly not Rachel and the blonde's temper flared and she texted back rapidly.

**Who is this? Where are you? **

When no response came, Quinn called again, once again waiting for the voicemail to pick up.

"This is Detective Quinn Fabray, you are impeding a criminal investigation; if you found this phone then I suggest you bring it to your nearest police station." She paused for a second before adding. "And if you are the one who took her—if you hurt her in any way, at all, your ass is mine."

* * *

Rachel heard cursing in the other room and the sound of something skidding across the floor. She couldn't understand what was being said, though she detected that it was probably in Spanish. The brunette was tied to a chair facing the wall with her back to the door; from the look of the room she was in, it was some sort of warehouse. Rachel was trying hard not to panic; her head hurt and a steady stream of silent tears rolled down her cheeks. The petite woman was surprised at how composed she was managing to be, but she also reasoned that it was probably shock. She strained her ears listening for anything, mostly hoping for the sound of sirens in the distance, any clue as to where she was while she scanned the room, with little luck, for something to help her escape. The reporter held her breath when a new voice echoed in the other room.

"What were you thinking, exactly?" the male voice boomed. "I'm very interested to know what led to this genius turn of events."

"Shut it Brylcreem," a female voice snapped. "What was I supposed to do? The voicemail said they were going to contact the police."

"Oh, well, in that case," the man yelled, "what you did has helped the situation so very much! Why did you even bring her here in the first place?"

"What would you have done, genius?" the woman replied.

There was silence for a moment and Rachel craned her neck.

"What are we going to do with her? Have you thought of that?" the man asked.

This was met with silence and someone was slamming things around. Rachel flinched with every bang that came from the other room and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.

"Where do you think you're going?" the woman snapped.

"I'm doing my end of the deal," the man replied. "Despite the fact that you are clearly inept at your part of this."

"I do my part! I'd like to see you out there doing the real work," the female voice pitched. "You couldn't find your ass with a map! All you do is drive around. If I'm so useless then why did you even ever cut me in; you don't have an answer for that, do you?"

"What I do is take the meager merchandise that you steal out of the city. I find buyers who are not concerned with the fact that the jewelry is 'hot' and I deal with them—something someone of your temperament could never manage. And I've somehow managed never to bring back a hostage," he stated coldly.

"Fine, I'll get rid of her." She huffed.

"How?" The man all but chuckled. "Are you going to snark her to death with sarcasm and 'sick burns'?"

"I'll just drop her off somewhere, no harm no foul," the woman stammered.

"She obviously has connections with the police; she's a liability," the man began.

Rachel's heart pounded in her ears, making it harder for her to focus on the conversation going on behind her. Once again, her eyes darted around the room for something, anything that might get her loose. She began struggling with the knots around her wrists and the ropes bit into her skin.

"Oh no," the woman stammered. "I didn't sign up for this shit! You said—"

"I didn't sign up for working with an absolute mental invalid! It shouldn't be a stretch for someone like you to 'off someone'; it's not as though you're weighed down by any morals," he spat back, and the sound of a palm striking skin echoed through the room.

"I'm not a murderer," the woman barked. "And if I was, I'd start with your pompous ass, so don't tempt me, nancy-boy."

"Do whatever you want!" the man snapped. "I'm done with you. I'll find someone competent."

"Fine by me," she replied. "But I'm warning you—you turn on me and you'll wish you were dead!"

"Please, I'm nothing if not professional, which is precisely why I'm ending this now. You have nothing to fear." He chuckled before his voice turned hard once again. "Just deal with this situation and I never want to see you again. I suggest you leave the country."

A door slammed and the brunette could hear a single pair of footsteps shuffling around the other room. She was gasping for air and trying to remain calm, which wasn't made any easier by the fact that her lungs felt like crumpled pieces of tinfoil. Rachel felt dangerously close to passing out, and despite the pain in her wrists, she continued to struggle with her restraints. As she thrashed about trying to free herself and breath, she didn't notice the sound of a door opening behind her.

"So, I guess you heard all of that." The woman sighed. "Chillax, Bilbo, I'm not gonna kill you or anything."

Rachel froze and her voice wavered as she spoke. "What are you going to do?"

"Look, I don't want to hurt you; I'm feeling pretty generous today—even if you did just blow my whole deal here by sticking your ridiculous shnoz into it," the other woman spoke casually.

"I'm sorry." The brunette trembled.

"Ehe, I wanted out anyway to be honest, which brings me to feeling generous," she continued. "So hows about you meet me halfway here. Don't turn around, don't peek, and keep your trap shut, and maybe I won't have to end your miserable life. K?"

The mystery woman sounded so causal about the situation they found each other in and the reporter nodded quickly.

"Good. Now I'm gonna blindfold you and we'll take a little ride," her captor explained.

She tied a scarf around Rachel's head, none too gently, and untied her arms and legs. For a moment, the brunette considered trying to run, but the girl's grip on her arm was very tight, and without being able to see, she probably wouldn't make it very far. Rachel felt the girl stuff something, presumably her cell phone, into her back pocket as she pulled up on her arm.

"Ups-a-daisy short stack." The woman chuckled.

The brunette shuffled awkwardly in the darkness of her blindfold; it seemed to take forever just to get to the car. The longer they drove, the more nervous, and nauseous, the brunette became.

"Is this really necessary?" Rachel yelled over the music that was blaring in the car.

"Only if you don't want me to hurt you." The driver chuckled. "We're almost there. Oh, and since your squeeze is apparently a cop, you can tell her I'm done. It's over. I won, and she doesn't need to worry about it anymore."

"She won't stop looking for you, and she will catch you and your partner," Rachel said smugly without thinking, and the woman scoffed.

"You're feisty," the woman laughed, "like a little lap dog, but you're wrong. She doesn't have a chance; not with me at least."

"And why is that exactly?" the reporter asked.

"'cause I'm awesome," she replied as though that were any kind of an answer at all.

The brunette sighed and didn't speak anymore; soon, she felt the car come to a stop and heard the click of her captor's seatbelt.

"Okay," the woman sighed, "here we are. Pleasure doing business with you."

Rachel felt her seatbelt snap loose and she fumbled blindly with the door.

"Do me a favor and count to 100 before you remove the blindfold," the woman demanded.

When the petite girl's feet finally touched the ground, she turned back. "You are going to get caught, you know? I can tell you haven't put so much as an hour's worth of thought into what to do next and Quinn is very capable."

Rachel had overestimated how difficult it would be to exit the vehicle without being able to see; she continued to flounder and heard the criminal giggling behind her.

"You know what? I'm going to enjoy this," the woman said as she gunned the engine, dumping the reporter unceremoniously onto the side of the road in the process.

The brunette covered her head to protect it from flying gravel; once it sounded safe she stood and yanked the blindfold off as fast as she could, but the car was too far away and her head was too dizzy to focus on any details beyond the fact that it was red. She seemed to be in the middle of nowhere and it appeared to be late morning. Rachel pulled out her phone quickly; jewelry tumbled out of her pocket in the process. She stared for a moment, wondering if it was supposed to be some sort of pay off, and realized she probably had decent amount of evidence piled around her feet. The brunette turned her attention back to the task at hand; the screen on her cell was cracked, but it still worked, though it was hard to be sure which contact she had selected. It hardly seemed to matter as she waited for someone to pick up; she hoped it was Quinn.

"Hello?" Brittany's voice sounded over phone and the reporter sighed.

"Brittany, hello," Rachel began.

"Rachel! Oh my god, I was so worried about you. The police called and they think you are missing," the blonde spoke quickly and excitedly. "Did they find you?"

"Not yet; I was taken hostage, but I'm alright, but I don't know where I am and I don't know how to get home," the brunette wheezed, looking around for any landmarks she might recognize. "I think I'm out on the east side of town. I can see warehouses in the distance."

"Oh, I can come get you," the girl said. "And San has the day off so you can come to lunch with us."

"No, no, I'm going to call Quinn." Rachel sighed. "I'm really not up to lunch, Brittany; I've just been released and—"

"But you've never gotten to meet San," Brittany pouted.  
"I have to go, Brittany; I've been tied up all night and I just need to go home and rest." It felt odd to have to explain why she didn't feel like having a girl's afternoon out—only the bubbly blonde would think that it was a good idea.

"Okay," the girl agreed. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Yeah," Rachel sighed again, "maybe."

She hung up quickly and sat back down; Rachel felt very much like she might break down, but something in her forced her back to her feet, and she began walking towards the warehouses as she tried her luck at contacting Quinn again.

* * *

Detective Fabray stared at her phone; it had probably been a bad idea to threaten whoever it was that had taken Rachel's cell, but she was desperate. Quinn took the reporter's notepad and relocked the car door behind her. She hurried back to her own vehicle and drove back toward the police station. Without pausing, she barged into the missing person's department to find Detective Hudson watching TV while Detective Evans typed slowly at a keyboard.

"I have information," she stated. "The person the burglar took hostage is Rachel Berry. She is a member of the press. Someone texted me from her phone under an hour ago."

The two men stared at her for a moment before the blonde spoke, "Thanks, that's a good start. We'll look into it."

"What are you going to do?" Quinn asked.

"We'll look into it in the morning." Finn groaned. "She's only been missing for a few hours."

Detective Fabray slammed her hands down on the desk. "She's not missing! She's been abducted by a known criminal!"

"What in the holy hell is goin' on in here?" their Chief demanded.

"I want in," Quinn said suddenly. "I want in on their case; it is directly connected to the case I am working on, and they don't seem too interested in pursuing it."

"Whoa," Detective Hudson cut in quickly, "we're doing our job. I don't wanna work with her—she's flippin out. She's pms'ing or something."

"Because you're incompetent!" the blonde screeched. "Let me on the case, Washington."

"We're on it, Fabray," Sam spoke up gently. "There's just not much we can do right now."

"You don't seem to be doing anything," Quinn spat bitterly.

"Enough!" Roz bellowed. "Fabray, you will focus on your own case, which, if I'm not mistaken, you're getting nowhere on, and leave these young men will work on their case and that's the end of it."

"I'm offering to help," the blonde flared.

"And I'm rejecting your offer to help," Chief Washington replied smugly. "Now, get out of here and don't let me see your scrawny ass until tomorrow. I'm not paying no overtime for your personal agendas."

"Yeah," Finn added, which earned him a rough smack from his partner.

"Shut it, Hudson," Roz snapped. "Do I look like I need your help in any way what so ever?"

Quinn stormed angrily out of the building and hopped back into her car; her body trembled with fear and rage. Frustrated tears were blurring her vision as she circled the block without any real plan of what to do next. All the detective could think to do was drive around town searching for the brunette, but that would accomplish nothing most likely. Finally, she turned the car around and headed to the only place she could think of—Mike's house.

Despite her partner's suggestion to try and sleep, Quinn found it impossible; instead, she found herself pouring over Rachel's notes. By the time the sun rose, she agreed with the reporter's theory that the New Directions Travel Agency seemed to be the connection between all of the robberies; though there were a few she had yet to contact, the blonde was willing to bet that they had booked their trips through the small, relatively new company.

Detective Fabray found herself waiting outside for the tiny office to open; she didn't want to seem too eager, so when an employee finally arrived to unlock the front door, she forced herself to remain still for ten minutes before leaving her vehicle. The blonde tried to shrug off her immediate distrust of the man behind the counter; after all, she hadn't slept and she was suspicious going in. She tried not to let her panic cloud her judgment.

"Welcome to New Directions," the man said in an overly enthusiastic tone. "My name is Jesse St. James, how may I help you?"

"Detective Quinn Fabray." The blonde smiled weakly. "Actually, I was hoping to speak to a manager or the owner."

The man behind the counter shifted slightly, and the detective noticed he looked slightly put off. "Well, I am the assistant manager; perhaps I would be able to assist you."

"I appreciate it, but I would prefer to speak with the owner," she insisted.

"Ah, I see," Jesse nodded, "well that may pose a bit of a problem. You see, our owner is more of a silent partner. New Directions is really more of an investment to him in his recent retirement. I could direct you to our manager, but Miss Pillsbury is on vacation at the moment, so she may be hard to contact."

"I see." Quinn sighed. "Well then, perhaps you can help me after all, for the time being."

"I would be honored to help the city's finest in any way possible," the man laid it on thick. "What can I do for you?"

The detective was reluctant to speak with him; she didn't like his tone, or the way he asserted himself smugly, and to be honest she wasn't entirely sure where to start. The hours without any rest and under the strain of worrying were taking a toll on Quinn, but something in her was repulsed by the man, and she instinctively distrusted him.

"How many employees are there?" the blonde asked.

"Four behind the counter, including myself, two that work directly with the airlines, hotels, resorts—things of that nature—one in marketing, and one bookkeeper. I can get you the employee list if that will help," he offered lightly.

"That would help." Quinn nodded. "Do you know them all well?"

Jesse stood up straighter. "Of course; as assistant manager, it is my job to know the ins and outs of our day to day as well as work as a sort of makeshift human resources."

"I see." She nodded, her phone rang and she jumped. "One moment please."

Detective Fabray backed away from the counter and pulled out her phone; when she saw Rachel's number flash across the screen, she rushed out the door for more privacy.

"Detective Fabray," she answered quickly. "Rachel?"

"Quinn." The reporter's voice sounded over the phone and Quinn's heart pounded loudly in her ears. "Quinn, can you hear me?"

"I hear you, Rach," the blonde choked. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I appear to be somewhere on the east side of town; I'm nearing some warehouses now," the brunette chattered over the line.

"Are you okay? I'm coming to get you," Quinn said, climbing into her car in the process.

"Thank you," Rachel replied, her voice sounded shaky. "I will see you soon, then?"

"Don't hang up," the detective gasped, switching her cell to speaker and started the car, "just stay on the line; I'll be able to find you easier. I'm on the east side already."

"Alright," the girl answered.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

"No, merely bruised," the brunette responded. "I'm nearing a sign now, Lima Heights? It's very worn down; I think that's what it says."

"Just stay there, I'm on my way," Quinn soothed.

"Should I hang up now?" Rachel asked.

"No," the blonde snapped. "Just keep talking."

Detective Fabray switched on the siren and lay down on the gas.

"What is that?" the reporter called over the cell.

"So you can hear me coming," the detective lied; in reality she wanted to get there as quickly as possible, and this way she could speed ahead with no one in her way.

It wasn't long before she spotted Rachel on the corner of a boarded up, shut down street. She turned off the lights and parked quickly, not bothering to turn off the engine, before bounding out of the vehicle. There was little in her mind other than the fact that Rachel had never looked more beautiful than this moment and the way her entire body felt lighter the closer she came to the girl.

"Quinn, the Bling-dini is making a run for—" Rachel began.

Quinn crashed their lips together and gripped her tightly, reveling in the feeling of the girl safe in her arms. Rachel relaxed into her, returning the kiss softly, and they stood there for several minutes before the blonde allowed their embrace to loosen.

"You're alright; you're really alright?" she breathed.

"I'm fine," Rachel giggled, "surprisingly fine actually."

"Do you want to go home?" Quinn offered.

"I'm not ready to be alone right now," the brunette answered, shivering a little.

The detective stared into her warm brown eyes. "Would you like to come back to mine? You should eat, and rest; I'll call the station and we can go in later when you feel ready."

The petite brunette smiled and nodded, and Quinn guided her back to the car. She drove slowly, keeping watch on Rachel out of the corner of her eye. The detective made the appropriate calls, which resulted in an argument with Detective Hudson as to why Miss Berry was not being brought directly to them, and before too long, they were at Quinn's home. She set to work making something for them to eat while Rachel took a quick shower; by the time she was out, Quinn could see that the events of last night were beginning to take their toll on the reporter. The brunette barely touched her food, though she insisted it was good, and the blonde did her best to get her to eat at least half of it. Luckily she had remembered not to prepare anything with meat, but in the end, Rachel apologized and claimed she was too tired, promising she would finish the meal later. Quinn guided her to the bedroom and did her best to make her comfortable.

"Don't go," Rachel requested meekly as Quinn tiptoed towards the door.

She turned and could see a few tears glistening in the petite woman's brown eyes; with a sigh, she climbed into bed next to her and wrapped her arms around the brunette. Rachel trembled slightly as she tried to go to sleep, but eventually the girl did drift off and her body became, for the most part, still.

"Some date," the blonde whispered, chuckling to herself that this was not what she'd had in mind for their Saturday plans.

She listened to the other woman's soft breathing, unable to wrap her head around the connection they shared. It would have been easy to chalk it up to the high intensity of the situations they seemed to always be finding themselves in, but if Quinn was honest with herself, she had to admit that she'd felt it from the beginning—from the first night at the bar. As she lay there spooning the petite girl, who seemed to fit against her perfectly, the detective couldn't help but feel like the world had fallen into place. As though fate, a thing she'd never believed in before, had conspired to bring them together. Detective Fabray closed her eyes and could easily imagine their life together, and it didn't seem strange to do so. She wasn't even afraid that the brunette might not share her feelings in the same way because if that were the case, the blonde would wait as long as it took for her to catch up. In that moment, she knew she was the one, and before long, Quinn was falling asleep as well; she nuzzled her face softly against Rachel's neck before succumbing to slumber.

* * *

Rachel woke with a start late in the evening; Quinn's arm tightened around her as she jostled to regain her surroundings. For a split second the brunette panicked at the feeling of being restrained, but Quinn's voice dispelled the feeling quickly.

"You're up." The blonde smiled.

"Have you been awake for long?" she asked groggily.

"Not too long," Quinn assured her with a light kiss. "Do you want something to eat?"

Rachel chewed her lower lip, trying to determine if she were hungry or not, and she really wanted nothing more than to continue to lay there in Quinn's arms. She felt safe, but she also needed to use the restroom and so, reluctantly, she agreed and excused herself.

As she picked at her food, she caught the detective studying her closely; she smiled weakly.

"Are you alright?" Quinn asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"I believe so." Rachel nodded. "All things considered, I am very lucky, but it's a hard thing to shake."

"What do you need?" the blonde offered.

"I don't know," the brunette answered honestly. "I simply want to stay busy and do what I can to catch them."

"Them?" the detective inquired.

"Oh my goodness," the reporter sputtered. "I forgot to tell you, I heard them talking. I should have given you all the details right away."

"No," Quinn interjected. "No, there is time. Eat. We can discuss this on the way to the station later."

Rachel began trying to fill her in, but Quinn insisted that she finish her meal first. The brunette sighed and turned her attention back to the task at hand, trusting that the detective knew what she was doing. Her heart fluttered a little each time she looked up to find the blonde studying her; it felt good to have someone take care of her, someone caring for her needs above all else, but if they were going to catch the criminal, they would need to act quickly. She finished as fast as she could and then it was her turn to insist that they head down to make a report, though she did request that Quinn let her stay another night at her house. Rachel scrambled to relay every detail she could remember to the detective on their ride back into town.

* * *

Rachel riffled through her desk, looking for her files; Detective Fabray had taken her to her car after breakfast when the brunette insisted that work was the best remedy for her nerves. The reporter felt she needed to do everything in her power to finish the case—for closure. The door swung open and Rachel barely looked up from the drawer she was searching through.

"What are you doing here, Berry?" her editor questioned.

"Whatever to do you mean?" she replied distractedly.

"You can't be here, Rachel," Shannon groaned.

"Nonsense." Rachel huffed.

The imposing woman crossed her arms. "You were a hostage, Berry; you've got trauma even if you're ignoring it."

"I'm not ignoring it," the reporter explained. "I'm using it."

Her boss groaned again and Rachel looked up. "Please. Please, Shannon, don't make me leave."

"Now, Berry, I'm looking forward to your report on all of this," the woman began, "but it'll have to wait. My hands are tied on this one; it's policy. You need to rest and relax. Now go on, get outta here; go take care of yourself. You're no more use to me than feathers to a porcupine as you are now."

Rachel sighed and stood up, racking her brain for any kind of appeal that might change her bosses mind to let her stay.

"Not a word," the Chief Editor spoke. "You don't think I'm serious? I'd love to let you stay since Brittany's up and quit, but I mean it, you can come back in a week."

"A week?" Rachel pitched. "Wait, when did Brittany quit?"

"Yesterday, she went out to lunch with her fiancé and then she called and said they were moving to Cancun, or Hawaii, or some such place 'cause San hit the lottery," the woman explained.

"I see." The reporter nodded.

"I'll walk you out," Shannon offered, and though Rachel turned it down, the woman walked with her nonetheless. "I'll see you in a week, Berry."

Rachel cast a glance back to the building and sighed; she was in no mood to sit alone at home. Though she had come out of the ordeal relatively unscathed, there was no undoing the trauma she had been through. The brunette had been struck and abducted, she'd been tied up in a dank room with no way to know where she was or for how long, and her life had been threatened. One does not bounce back from an ordeal like that by simply saying 'it could have been worse'. Even as Rachel headed for the car, she knew going home, or back to the detective's house, was pointless. She couldn't go home and watch TV and be okay. The reporter needed to be working on something—anything. As she sat down in the driver's seat of the little bug, her eyes fell on the scattered papers in the passenger seat; she hadn't noticed them before, but she remembered Quinn mentioning that she'd broken into the vehicle to look for clues. Rachel's notepad was still missing from the pile and it sparked an idea; she turned the key in the ignition and headed for New Directions. It was a short trip and Rachel spent more time going over her story than she did in driving to the small office. When she finally felt ready, she took a deep breath and headed inside.

There were a few customers ahead of her in line, and so she browsed the brochures while she concentrated on her line of questioning. The man behind the counter seemed to glance at her overly often, but Rachel assured herself that he was merely being an attentive employee.

"How may I help you?" he said shortly.

"I'd like to go on vacation with my girlfriend, but I'm not exactly sure where it is I would like to take her; perhaps you can help me choose the best location," she lied. "I'm trying to surprise her."

"I'm sure she will be surprised and pleased," the clerk, whose nametag read 'Jesse' said knowingly.

Rachel's heart began to sputter, as though her body made a connection her mind had yet to pick up on. All she knew was something about this man made her uncomfortable, and the feeling only got worse as more of the customers finished their business and left. Her hand reflexively drifted to her neck, but the charm wasn't hanging there, still missing from the other night.

"Well, that is my hope," the brunette continued. "If I'm going to leave my business unattended for over a week, then the vacation had better be worth every penny and every minute."

Her intuition screamed that she should give up on this charade, but she continued on nonetheless. Rachel wished she had called Quinn; she wished that the detective was here with her now, though in reality, the blonde might not have let her come at all.

"Is leaving your business really such a risk?" Jesse asked; he didn't seem very interested in their conversation as he glanced out the window at people on the sidewalk. "Surely you can have a vacation with no real need to worry."

"Well, it's a jewelry store," Rachel continued, "and with all this news of the Bling-dini, and I have to admit I don't fully trust my staff to be on their toes while I'm gone."

The man behind the counter smirked. "Yes, some employees can be inept, but you shouldn't let that ruin a perfectly romantic vacation. Why just last night I had a little setback in my own business dealings, a falling out with a partner over—shall we call it ethics? But you can't let other people's shortcomings ruin a perfectly good deal, can you?"

Rachel's mind finally caught up to what her body had been telling her; she remembered where she'd heard that smug voice before. Jesse smiled and she gasped; it was clear her knew exactly who she was as well. The brunette began to back away from the counter slowly.

"Perhaps I should think this over a bit longer before booking anything solid," she stammered. "After all, I haven't even consulted my girlfriend on the matter."

"Nonsense," he laughed, exiting the counter to follow her, "that's the whole fun of planning something out—knowing no one knows. I'm sure Detective Fabray will be thrilled."

* * *

Quinn glanced at her phone; she hadn't felt good about dropping Rachel off at her car this morning, but the reporter had insisted that work was the best medicine. The blonde felt antsy about not being by the brunette's side, not after she had just gotten her back safe—if not quite sound. Quinn reminded herself that no matter how she felt, this was a new relationship, and the detective shouldn't crowd Rachel if she felt she needed space. So, to ease her stress, she took the reporter's advice and distracted herself with work.

Before too long, all the required paperwork was filed, and she and Mike found themselves sitting at their, desks wondering what to do next. After another quick glance at her cell, she caught her partner laughing at her.

"What?" she snapped.

"You're just—I don't know—cute when you're in love." Mike shrugged, holding back another laugh.

"Who says I'm in love?" Quinn countered.

A flurry of chuckles sounded around the room, though they fell silent when the blonde leveled them each with an icy hazel stare.

"You're gonna get heckled just like I was when I proposed to Tina," her partner whispered a warning.

"I didn't propose," she said evenly.

Mike shrugged and Quinn stared around the room again, as if daring anyone to say another word. She took a deep breath and thought over the facts Rachel had shared with her; one thief was on the run, and from the sound of it, her partner was selling the stolen goods outside the city limits. Officers were already looking into pawn shops in the surrounding cities based on this information and several items had already been identified—it would only be a matter of time now. Quinn knew that Rachel's theory had been right and the thief's partner most likely worked at the travel agency, and something in her gut told her that it was the man she had been talking to yesterday.

"Let's go," Detective Fabray ordered.

"Where?" Detective Chang asked.

"I never finished looking into the travel agency," Quinn explained, "and I have a bad feeling about it, so we might as well do that now."

The moment the door shut behind them the detective could hear the other officers laughing and joking about her planning her honeymoon. Mike quickly ushered her outside.

"They're gonna razz you." He chuckled when she shrugged his arm off her shoulder. "The car-cam recorded you and Rachel making out for the entire precinct to see. Just take your lumps and act like it doesn't bother you."

Quinn nodded, feeling her cheeks warm a little at the thought of her fellow officers watching their embrace.

"I want you to meet her, Mike," she blurted.

Detective Chang stared at her and her face continued to color. She knew she had just all but announced that she was serious about Rachel, but she didn't really care—there didn't seem to be a reason it hide it any longer.

Mike smiled. "Oh, you're in love alright."

Quinn paused. "Yes, yes I am."

* * *

As they pulled up to New Directions Travel Agency, Quinn spotted Rachel's beetle parked outside. Her hazel eyes darted to the glass doors and spotted the clerk from earlier blocking the brunette's path. The weight that had been sitting in the pit of her stomach seemed to suddenly jump to her throat, and she barely waited for the vehicle to slow to a stop before lunging out of the passenger side door. Jesse was in the process of locking the front doors when Quinn reached them; the young man froze, casting a desperate look over his shoulder, and the detective took the opportunity to slam the door open. The man fell back against the wall, clutching his nose, and Rachel let out a little yelp.

"Quinn," Rachel gasped, trembling in place against the wall, "it's him, he—"

Before Detective Fabray was able to even ask if the brunette was alright, Jesse slammed the door back, knocking her off balance. Quinn staggered and drew her weapon, firing a shot at him as the clerk leapt the counter and disappeared into the back room; Mike dashed past her in pursuit. A small trickled of blood dripped from the blonde's forehead and she felt a little dizzy as she stumbled forward to help her partner, but Rachel grabbed her arm to steady her.

"Are you alright, Quinn?" the reporter asked.

"I'm fine, it's noting," Quinn assured her.

There was a loud crash from the back room, and the detective hurried to the door to see Jesse fleeing down the alley and Mike struggling to get back onto his feet. Quinn took off after the man and soon she overtook him. The detective lunged at him, knocking Jesse to the ground. He tried to fight back, but the blonde dug her knee into his back and kept him pinned as she pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Part of her hoped that he would continue to struggle; Quinn wanted little more than to tear him to pieces, but her training kept her in check and she could hear Mike approaching.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense," she droned out. "Be glad that I respect the law more than you do."

Quinn jerked him back up onto his feet and shoved him towards her partner.

"Are you injured?" Mike asked quickly.

She gently touched the scratch on her temple and shook her head. "Nothing major."

Detective Chang drug Jesse back down the alleyway, and Detective Fabray was nearly knocked off her feet when Rachel hugged her. "I was so scared."

"I know," Quinn soothed, "but we got him."

Rachel narrowed her dark eyes up at her. "I'm referring to the fact that you pursued a known dangerous criminal while injured. I forbid you to do anything of the sort again."

The blonde threw back her head and laughed. "I'm not injured, Rach; I'm barely scratched and it is my job. I think I should be the one forbidding you, since you're the one who always seems to be in danger."

"Then I will simply have to keep you around to protect me." Rachel shrugged.

"Seems like that may be a full time job as it is." Quinn sighed.

"Well then," the reporter stated quietly, "perhaps I will need 24 hour surveillance."

Detective Fabray chuckled. "You might be right."

Rachel pushed up onto her tiptoes and locked the blonde in a rough kiss, and Quinn took the moment to slip the necklace back around the petite girl's neck.

"Thank you," Rachel whispered in her ear.

"Anytime," Quinn replied quietly.

"Could I stay with you, just for a while, I mean?" the brunette asked. "I still don't want to go back to my apartment alone just yet."

"Of course," the blonde nodded, "we'll swing by your place and get some of your things. You can stay as long as you need."

Quinn wanted to ask Rachel if she would like to move in; the house hadn't really felt like home since Pops had died and Kurt moved away to New York, but perhaps that was a discussion best left for another time. The blonde contented herself to know that the brunette would be staying with her for a while at least.

"I'll make myself useful, I promise," Rachel replied. "I imagine after today Beiste will make me take yet another week off work. Actually, I might discover that I enjoy being a housewife; I could have dinner on the table waiting for you every night—well, takeout at least."

The reporter blushed and became silent as though she had just realized exactly what she had just said, and the detective basked in the feeling that, once again, they were on the same page—even if neither of them were openly admitting it.

Quinn simply smiled. "That would be nice."

Rachel smiled back up at her and laced their fingers together.

"I insist." The reporter tugged at her gently. "Can we go back to your place?"

The detective sighed. "Well, there will be a lot of paperwork and processing. We still have to catch his partner, you know."

"I have a feeling she is long gone," Rachel said wistfully.

Quinn cocked an eyebrow at her. "Do you know something you're not telling me?"

The woman shrugged. "I have a theory, but it's quite possibly conjecture. Anyway, you never answered my first question. Can we go home?"

The blonde beamed at what Rachel had just said. "Why?"

The brunette smiled mischievously and blushed a little as she mumbled, "Because you're extremely sexy, and I find myself particularly attracted to you at the moment."

Quinn unhooked her badge and turned, handing it over to Mike as he continued to lead Jesse around the building and towards the police car; her partner glanced between the two of them and sighed, giving her a quick nod.

"Sounds like a good enough reason to me." She smiled.

* * *

**So there you have it. Hope it was worth the three day wait. The poll is up and I'm working on the next installment right now. Thanks again and reviews are always welcome.**


	7. Particles

**Seventh Installment. Even the most complex things in the world can be broken down and understood; Professor Rachel Berry knows this better than most people - perhaps even better than most scientists working in her field. When it comes to more practical matters, science cannot explain everything. Maybe her housekeeper, Quinn Fabray, can help make things crystal clear.  
**

**Professions - Particles - Scientist/Housekeeper**

***I do not own Glee or Glee Characters* So this is a simi-crossover as well as AU. Hopefully that doesn't make it too confusing; gold stars to all who guess the show before it's been made obvious. Huge thanks to Invisimeg for a speedy edit and thanks to all the reviewers. **

* * *

**Particles**

Quinn waved the feather duster absentmindedly as she checked herself in the mirror. In the other room, she could hear Rachel typing away at the keyboard and it was driving her insane. Her mind flashed to images of the brunette's fingers grazing the keys of the laptop quickly and lightly, and from there her mind wandered to more graphic imaginings of what those nimble fingers could do. Quinn blushed; she'd been working here for months, cleaning Professor Berry's house, office, and the lab. It hadn't taken her long to develop a crush that was quickly becoming an obsession. The blonde wasn't supposed to clean the office if Rachel was working in it, but everything else was finished, she'd seen to that, and it hardly seemed prudent to sit around waiting—so she had no other choice, really. Which is why she had worked so hard to be done so quickly; now she wouldn't have anything to do until it was time to make dinner.

It was a good job; she was paid well, given an apartment, and the work load really wasn't too heavy. If anything it was a tad too easy. All things considered, Quinn had it made; true, it could be a little lonely—they rarely had visitors and those visitors never stayed long. The housekeeper was able to save away a healthy chunk of money, though she didn't quite know what she was saving it for exactly.

"Twentieth time's the charm, right?" Quinn asked her reflection before knocking lightly at the door.

She didn't wait for an answer to pop her head into the room; from the look of things, Rachel hadn't even heard her light tapping. The blonde took a few seconds to gaze at the brunette unnoticed; the professor pushed her reading glasses back into place and Quinn smiled. Eventually, though, she cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Professor Berry," she said sweetly, "but I'm done with everything except here."

"Can't it wait?" Rachel asked meekly.

"It could," Quinn replied with a bat of her eyelashes, "but I was really hoping to be done in enough time to step out between now and dinner."

The brunette chewed her lower lip and the housekeeper smiled to herself; she knew the woman was attracted to her—it showed clearly in her nervous reactions and sideways glances when she thought the blonde wasn't looking. She didn't know why Rachel stuck so strictly to the belief that business and pleasure should never mix. The first time Quinn had begun flirting, the professor had given her a long speech about volatile substances that should never be mixed—that, in her opinion, employers and employees were the exact same situation. Rachel hadn't, however, said anything about being disinterested, and Quinn wanted her, so she intended to get her.

"I won't be long, I promise." The blonde pouted as she stepped into the room. "You won't even notice I'm here."

Quinn set to work quickly to prove her point, though she cast many quick looks over her shoulder to spy on the brunette's reaction. Rachel sighed and, as she always did when the housekeeper entered the room, turned back to her computer to close a few of the programs that were running. She gave her a little space for a few minutes; after all, she did have to dust the rest of the room, which she did quickly as promised. Quinn slowed down as she neared the desk. The housekeeper barely took her eyes off the professor as she drew closer until she was directly behind the girl.

"What are you working on today?" she asked lightly, leaning down so that she was practically whispering into her employer's ear.

"It is for a project that is confidential," Rachel replied tightly.

Quinn picked up a notebook from the desk and stepped back, wiping the book quickly before flipping through a few pages; the woman's dark eyes were trained on her and she smirked.

"I'm sorry, is this confidential too?" the blonde asked.

"No," the brunette shrugged, "it's a food journal."

Quinn cocked an eyebrow. "What for? You don't need to diet; you're perfect."

Rachel took off her glasses with a sigh. "Miss Fabray, I believe you were in a hurry to finish so that you could have some personal time."

"Work comes first," the housekeeper teased back. "Besides, I should look over your journal for tips instead of going out for snacks. I wouldn't want to get huge."

With that, she reached down, brushing Rachel's hand in the process, and quickly picked up the brunette's discarded glasses.

"You are in no danger of being considered 'huge', Miss Fabray; if anything, I should be studying your beauty secrets," the professor blurted out before going silent.

Quinn giggled as she slipped on the reading glasses and pretended to read. "My-my, Professor Berry, if I didn't know better, I would take that as a complement."

"Miss Fabray, I really must insist that you either finish your work here or return to finish it later in the day," Rachel stammered. "I have quite a bit of work to complete."

The blonde pouted at her as the professor held out her hand; Quinn returned it to her coyly.

"My glasses, please." The brunette sighed.

The housekeeper removed the spectacles, but instead of handing them directly back she nibbled lightly at the end of one of the arms. She could see the woman's cheeks turn pink and could tell that Rachel was struggling to control her reaction.

"That is," the professor cleared her throat, "unsanitary."

Quinn sighed and returned the reading glasses; she didn't want to push her luck too far, but she knew she was on the right track.

"Alright," the blonde chirped. "I'll get out of your hair for now. What would you like for dinner?"

"Anything you make will be adequate," Rachel responded distantly without looking at her.

The housekeeper nodded, even though her employer wouldn't notice her response, and sauntered out of the room. The moment the door was closed behind her, Quinn let out a heavy sigh and leaned against the opposite wall. By now the blonde was used to the brunette brushing off her advances, but it still frustrated her. Quinn had hours to fill and nothing to do with her time; she considered actually heading into town, but she really had no desire to leave.

She put her cleaning supplies away, and before long, she found herself in the kitchen. Quinn was bored and the sting of rejection was still eating away at her—she wasn't used to being ignored. The blonde fished under the sink for the watering can; visiting the greenhouse always seemed to cheer her up and some of the arrangements could do with a little refreshing. A light knock sounded at the kitchen door before she could even begin to fill the watering can, and Quinn hurried over to answer it.

"Hello, Dave." She smiled at the large man carrying two heavy looking shopping bags.

"Hey, Quinn, where do you want them?" he asked as stepped inside.

"Anywhere is fine." Quinn shrugged.

The delivery boy deposited the bags on the island and stretched. "So what's on the menu tonight?"

He came by twice a week; Professor Berry preferred fresh produce and ingredients. It hadn't taken long for the two to strike up a friendship; Dave was nice and much friendlier than he looked.

"I don't know." The blonde sighed, wondering what Rachel would prefer for dinner.

Quinn was trying to remember which meals the brunette liked best; she began picking through the groceries, hoping something special would occur to her soon.

"Something the matter?" Dave asked.

The blonde arched an eyebrow at him, but then smiled; she had no idea why, but she always felt like she could trust him with any secret. He was almost the only other person she spoke to these days.

"Have you ever just wanted someone so bad," she began, struggling to put her frustration into words without giving too much away, "you can't even think straight? Like, you don't even know why you want them. They just make you feel—I don't even know—like a silly little girl when you're around them?"

"Well, I've never quite felt like a girl," he chuckled, "but I get what you're saying, yeah."

Quinn blushed and continued unpacking the supplies. "It's just making me crazy."

"Yeah, I can sympathize." Dave sighed. "If it makes you feel any better, you've got a better shot than I have."

The blonde rolled her eyes. "She barely notices me, and even when I think she is, she refuses to admit it, which makes me feel like I'm just imagining things."

"At least she's single," he pointed out. "And I guarantee she notices. You're a super sexy maid; she won't be able to resist you for long. I'm just a dumpy delivery boy."

"You're a catch, Dave," she said warmly.

"I don't think I'd be his type even if he wasn't with someone," Dave shrugged, "but you've got a real chance. If Professor Berry doesn't see what's so special about you then she's an idiot. Just don't give up."

"I don't intend to," Quinn giggled, "so don't be too shocked if I end up fired."

The housekeeper opened the drawer next to the fridge and pulled out a list of the things they would need delivered next; she blushed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she handed it over along with Dave's tip. He scanned the list and smirked.

"No, you're not giving up at all." The delivery boy chuckled.

"It's ordered; you'd just be picking it up," she assured him. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not," Dave assured her. "It's my job."

He seemed like he was going to say more, but his phone rang; Quinn couldn't help but overhear a disgruntled female voice on the other end of the line saying _we don't pay you to fraternize with pretty girls, Mr. Karofsky_. The blonde felt slightly guilty for getting him in trouble with his boss and she mouthed an apology as he backed out the door with a wave.

Quinn heard the door to Rachel's office open and close and the sound of the brunette climbing the stairs; her heart beat a little faster and she set to work preparing dinner.

* * *

As the door closed softly behind Quinn, Rachel opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a well warn tape recorder. The brunette checked to be sure the coast was clear before turning it on and speaking into it clearly.

"Day 43-C of Quinn's employment; her flirtatious conduct continues. I find it distracting, peculiar, and baffling. She has not been instructed to behave in this manner and I have not rewarded her advances yet she persists. Despite my clear and careful commands, her unwarranted romantic attention is still occurring. Perhaps drastic measures will have to be taken to ensure that these actions will cease," she droned dryly before clicking off the device. "Why do I enjoy her flirting with me? I shouldn't—I know better."

No matter what Rachel knew was right, she couldn't deny the warmness in her cheeks or the rush in her pulse that had yet to slow. The brunette wrestled with the ethical and moral dilemma of her desires. No matter how she looked at it, and she had looked at it every way imaginable, allowing Quinn to continue on as she was couldn't be a good idea, and under no circumstances should the scientist be enjoying it. With another heavy sigh, Rachel tucked the tape recorder back into the drawer and locked it; the brunette turned her attention back to the computer.

To most people the jumble of nonsensical letters, numbers, and symbols were nothing more than gibberish, but to Professor Berry the codes were as easy to read as a well-known book. Navigating all the programs running on her machine was not much different to her than running errands around town; processing one would clear a path that had been blocked in the other, and soon they would all be properly running and ready for beta testing. Now, however, with Quinn's words, looks, and actions still prevalent in her mind, Rachel found it impossible to concentrate on the codes and functions on the screen.

The brunette shook her head and began closing the programs one by one; careful to save each file properly before shutting the computer off. She would just have to work on them later in the day once her mind was clear again. Rachel heard the kitchen door close and wondered if Quinn had stepped out like she had mentioned earlier; if so, this would be the best chance to escape undetected to her room. She hurried out the door and across the hall to the staircase; half way up, she paused when she caught a glimpse of the blonde's reflection in the hall mirror. Rachel could see Quinn at the counter with her back to the doorway and she allowed herself a—perhaps ill-considered—moment to ogle the girl.

"Rachel?" Quinn called over her shoulder, as though she somehow knew she was being watched, and the brunette stiffened. "Are you done? Do you want dinner early today?"

They shared meals together because ever since her fathers had passed away, she couldn't bear to eat alone; her parents had left her everything, including the estate, and it felt all the more vacant at an empty table. Because of this, when they shared their meals together was the only instance in which Rachel approved the use of her first name; it might have been a little blurring of the lines, but she couldn't justify forcing the blonde to refer to her as Professor Berry when they were sharing a meal off-the-clock.

"No, Miss Fabray," Rachel chocked. "The usual time will be fine. I'll be down then; until then I am not to be disturbed."

"Alright," Quinn replied.

Rachel hurried up to her room as she chastised herself for gazing at the blonde; no wonder her housekeeper felt it was acceptable to flirt with her—the brunette would need to have more control of herself if she wanted to keep things strictly professional. It wasn't easy; after all, Quinn was beautiful and that was hard for Rachel to ignore. The situation was not made any easier by the fact that the estate was a lonely place and the brunette had precious few other people to interact with. She didn't have office hours or a schedule; Professor Berry conducted her work from home on a stipend from her employers. She pursued her efforts at her own pace, which was quite dedicated, and they covered the expenses.

After a long, cold shower Rachel finally felt ready to return to work; she would need to send a progress report soon and she wanted to impress the company. However, once inside the office, she couldn't bring herself to be cooped up for much more of the day—she could practically hear LeRoy lecturing her about the joys of nature and how she was missing out on life from beyond the grave. Instead, she quickly transferred the programs from her main computer to a laptop and situated herself comfortably on the back patio. It made it easier to justify spending most of her waking hours poring over codes, and poring over codes helped to distract her from the fact that her fathers were not puttering around the greenhouse together.

"Don't you ever take a break?" the housekeepers called as she popped her head out the kitchen door.

Rachel shrugged. "Well, I have work to make up for."

"You work too much," the blonde chastised. "It's not healthy."

"It's my job." The brunette sighed. "These algorithms aren't going to code themselves, after all."

She didn't look up, but she could imagine Quinn rolling her eyes at her.

"I think there are better ways to spend your free time than with more work," Quinn insisted.

"I'm outside, aren't I?" Rachel defended.

Without warning, the blonde snatched the laptop away from her and dashed into the house. For a moment Rachel sat frozen in shock before chasing after her; once inside, she was unsure of which way Quinn had gone. Her first instinct was to go to her office, but as she passed the front room, she heard giggling, and so she turned into it quickly.

"Return my laptop this instant," she snapped. "You have no idea how long and hard I have work on perfecting those programs—they are sensitive!"

The blonde typed rapidly at the laptop rested on the coffee table. "I know exactly how long you've worked on them and don't worry, I'm not harming your precious files. I'm just saving and closing them."

By the time Rachel crossed the large living room, Quinn had powered down the device and was holding it safely out of her reach.

The brunette let out an exasperate gasp. "Miss Fabray, return my property to me at once or you're fired."

"You wouldn't fire me for doing my job," Quinn teased back. "If you want it back, I'll trade it for a kiss."

"Out of the question!" Rachel stammered. "And how, pray-tell, is this part of your job?"  
The blonde smirked. "When you hired me, you told me my job was to keep the house in order and see to your basic needs."

The scientist batted her eyes. "I do not see how that…"

"You need to relax, Professor Berry," the housekeeper interrupted smoothly. "You work too hard and that is not good for you, so I'm seeing to it right now. Now, how about that kiss? One little, very respectful and professional kiss?"

"By basic needs I was referring to the preparation of meals and the handling of mundane tasks such as the mail and dealing with groceries and orders," Rachel fumed.

"Well you should have been more specific," Quinn laughed, "because I'm very serious about taking care of you. You wouldn't fire me for being committed to my work would you?"

The brunette crossed her arms. "I am not going to reward you for stealing my laptop and possibly ruining weeks of tireless effort."

"The codes are fine. I double checked them before saving and closing," the blonde assured her.

She turned her back on the woman and pinched the bridge of her nose as she struggled to keep her temper under control.

"How could you check them? You don't even know what they are or how to work the programs running them. You haven't the slightest idea what I do—how could you know that nothing…" Rachel huffed.

"From the look of them, they are A.I. formats, very intricate ones at that," Quinn said lightly. "And artificial intelligence, by definition, is not real—they aren't living things. I'm sure they can survive without you for a few hours."

The brunette spun around; her housekeeper shouldn't know that, but it was clear there was no getting around the situation at hand. She knew Quinn was intelligent—that had been obvious very early on—but this was shocking. If Rachel hadn't known better, she would have been suspicious of the blonde.

"I am not going to kiss you; that would be highly inappropriate," she stated clearly, but it was clear that Quinn was not going to back down. "But I suppose I could compromise—would a hug suffice?"

The blonde pretended to ponder the offer for a second before shrugging. "It will do."

"Alright, I'm going to hug you now," Rachel nodded, "and then you will return my laptop."

"Alright." Quinn smiled.

"In addition," the brunette added, "after this, it is to be understood that your jobs—in reference to my 'needs'—cannot be twisted to include monitoring my personal life in any way."

"On the condition that once the laptop is replaced, you do not hermit yourself back in your office until tomorrow," the blonde countered.

Professor Berry's mouth gaped open; she clamped her mouth shut and nodded. The housekeeper grinned at her and sat the device down gently. Rachel swallowed thickly and stepped forward to wrap the girl in a quick hug, but when she went to step back, Quinn didn't let go. She wrestled weakly and tried not to think of how nice the blonde's arms felt around her or how good the woman smelled; the brunette tilted her head up to protest, and in a split second, Quinn leaned her head down to plant a soft kiss on the cheek before releasing her. Rachel stood frozen in place; her housekeeper looked every bit as shocked as she felt—perhaps the woman realized that she'd crossed a line. Her hazel eyes looked absolutely panicked and her cheeks were bright red.

"That was—I mean—I shouldn't have…" the blonde sputtered.

Without thinking, Rachel popped up on her tiptoes and crashed their lips together; the moment the kiss ended she staggered back.

"I'm sorry, that was—I apologize," she babbled. "I don't know why I did that."

Quinn opened her mouth, but was interrupted by the shrill beeping of the smoke detector in the kitchen; the housekeeper rushed out of the room and Rachel sat down on the closest chair.

_Alright_, she thought quickly, _I can fix this_. _We simply got caught up in the moment, that's all; surely I can explain that to her_. Even as she thought this, she knew it would be much more complicated than that. Undoing what she had just foolishly done would take a lot of work and the thought of it made her tired already.

The blonde paused in the doorway, glass of water in hand, and spoke softly, "Well, I seem to have ruined dinner."

"That's alright," Rachel breathed, "I'm really not that hungry."

"I could—do you want me to order something?" Quinn asked as she gently handed her the glass. "Or I could make something else."

"No, no," the brunette said quickly. "I can manage on my own. You should…"

The blonde smiled at her. "It was a nice kiss."

"About that," Rachel chimed.

"I know—it was a mistake," Quinn laughed, "but I'm just saying I liked it."

With that, her housekeeper turned and scampered out of the living room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Something had to be done, but Rachel wasn't sure she wanted to; after all, it wasn't all Quinn's fault. Professor Berry needed some time to think.

* * *

Quinn rolled over to glare at the alarm clock, giving the snooze button a hard smack, but quickly bolted out of bed when she registered what time it was. She couldn't very well be late on her first day of work. The blonde rummaged through her things and dressed quickly, glad that she didn't have a uniform to wear every day. The new housekeeper tiptoed down the long hallway and carefully made her way down the stairs; she paused for a moment as she tried to remember which way the kitchen was. The clanging of pots and pans clued her in and Quinn slowly pushed her way through the swinging door.

"Am I late?" She gasped. "I'm sorry; I guess I'm not making a very good first impression."

"You're not late, Miss Fabray," Rachel assured her. "I merely thought, since it is your first day, that I would make breakfast for you before I show you around."

The blonde smiled; there was something cute about the brunette, who obviously didn't know her way around the kitchen, in an apron. She'd only met her employer once before, the day she moved in, and all her interviews had been over the phone. It still shocked her that the very formal and long winded voice from those calls belonged to such a stunning woman.

"Thank you." Quinn smiled as she took a seat at the island.

She wasn't sure what to do with her hands; she felt like she should at least be helping. The blonde figured she would have plenty of time to get used to the new kitchen—the new everything, really—and she might as well enjoy being somewhat waited on while she could. At least the view was pleasant enough; Quinn blushed a little at her own thoughts, but didn't look away from brunette.

"Do you have any questions about your job duties?" Rachel asked as she checked the oatmeal.

The blonde shrugged. "I guess I'll just have to get used to where everything is; that should be the hardest part."

"But you do understand your position clearly?" the brunette asked again.

"I clean, cook, and see to basic needs." She nodded, a little unsure as to how she could be expected to not understand.

Professor Berry nodded back before blushing and rushing out a seemingly unneeded explanation. "By basic needs, of course I mean routine maintenance of the house; changing light bulbs, tending to the greenhouse, and so forth. Basic needs of the house."

The housekeeper giggled. "What else would I think you meant?"  
The woman blinked her warm brown eyes several times and sighed. "I'm a scientist; I simply like to have everything understood and outlined concisely."

"I can understand that." Quinn nodded.

She could easily tell that there was something that her employer wasn't saying, something the brunette was tiptoeing around, but the blonde couldn't quiet imagine what it was. Had Rachel been hitting on her? If so, it was a very subtle attempt, but, then again, weren't scientists supposed to be a little hopeless when it came to things like that? If she went by that stereotype, however, then her employer wouldn't be so attractive—brainy types were supposed to be dungeon trolls weren't they—and Rachel was definitely attractive. Quinn decided there was probably something else that the woman wasn't saying, but if she had been trying to flirt with her, she was flattered.

"I will be in my office for most of the day," Rachel explained, jolting Quinn out of her thoughts. "Normally I am not to be disturbed, but being as it's your first day, you should feel free to ask me about anything you are unsure of during the course of your work today."

The brunette scooped some oatmeal into a bowl and pulled a plate of fresh fruit out of the fridge before setting both in front of the blonde.

"What do you do, exactly?" she found herself asking.

Professor Berry paused as though she were thinking over her answer carefully. "I design A.I. programs, artificial intelligence; most of my current work is in the testing stages at this moment, but I never really stop coding new things."

"Aren't you going to eat?" Quinn asked when the woman removed her apron and headed for the door.

"I already did," Rachel replied. "I'll be in my office if you need anything."

After breakfast, and many visits to the professor's office in order to find out where things were, Quinn found herself fussing over the stove as she worked on lunch. She wished she had picked a simpler meal to make, considering she'd never worked with any of this kitchen's equipment before, but she inexplicably wanted to empress her employer. The brunette was being so nice to her today despite the fact that the blonde had interrupted her work several times. The housekeeper felt sure she would memorize the layout of the large estate soon; she was especially excited to learn her way around the greenhouse—Quinn had already found an excuse to visit it twice today.

She very nearly dropped the pan she was sautéing vegetables in when the kitchen door flew open; Quinn whirled around to see a large man with two very full grocery bags.

"Good news," his voice boomed loudly. "I heard through the grape vine that a certain someone is finally single again."

The blonde gaped at him as he sat the bags down on the counter and began unpacking them.

"Is it too soon for me to ask him out?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "I mean, maybe I shouldn't rush in so soon, but then again, he won't be single long and—I wouldn't want to miss out on my chance to get shot down."

Quinn shifted nervously; he didn't seem threatening or dangerous. In fact, there was something oddly comforting about him, but he was clearly unhinged. The man glanced up at her and she arched an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, I almost forgot." He laughed, as he jogged back out the door and returned with a package. "Your, um, uniform. You thought I forgot about it, didn't you?"

"Excuse me?" the blonde said tensely. "Who are you exactly?"

The man looked up at her and his face fell. "Oh, sorry, I thought you were someone else; my name is Dave. I do the deliveries twice a week."

Dave shifted a little and set the package down with a sigh; he pointed towards the fridge. "Professor Berry probably filled out the next list already, but you should look it over in case there's anything you want to add."

The blonde nodded and searched for the list as the delivery boy apologized, "Sorry I just burst in rambling like that; I probably scared you a little."

Quinn smiled as she checked over the list quickly. "So you were pretty good friends with the old housekeeper?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "she was pretty cool."

She felt sorry for him; he probably hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to his friend. The situation must have been jarring for him and maybe even a little embarrassing.

"I'm pretty good at dating advice," Quinn offered lightly. "If you ever needed any."

Dave cracked a smile and shrugged. "It's a long story and I should get going. Maybe I'll get some advice next time."

"Alright," the blonde nodded, "it was nice to meet you, Dave. Oh, and my name's Quinn."

He nodded and let himself out; Quinn checked the food quickly and then made her way over to inspect the package. She supposed it would have to be forwarded to the former housekeeper and she wasn't sure how to go about doing that. The box, however, was clearly marked 'Quinn' and the blonde sighed.

"So much for no uniform," she sighed.

When she opened the box she gasped and did a double take. "You can't be serious."

* * *

Rachel stretched before hitting the send button; her monthly progress report was on its way to her employers, letting them know her codes were ready to enter the trial testing stages. The scientist had also requested more information as to what the programs were specifically being used for. Of course the brunette knew what their function was, but she could theorize several different practical applications for them, and even more theoretical musings about them. She didn't appreciate that her company would keep her in the dark; part of her knew she wouldn't get a response to her question, but she intended to continue asking anyway.

Quinn cleared her throat in the doorway. "We need to talk."

"Can I help you with something, Miss Fabray?" Rachel asked.

When she looked up her jaw dropped open at the sight of the blonde, hands on her hips, in the skimpiest French-Maid costume imaginable.

"You cannot be serious about this," the housekeeper fumed. "What is this?"  
"Where did—why are—how" the brunette stammered. This couldn't be real; she felt sure that she had fallen asleep at her desk. "Why?"

"That's exactly what I'd like to know." Quinn huffed.

The frilly outfit left little to the imagination and Rachel felt her face burning wildly. "Take that off."

The blonde gasped and then scoffed. "I knew this job was too good to be true. I knew there must be a reason you were being so nice to me all day. Well, I'm not that kind of live-in-maid, Professor Berry."

Rachel dropped her eyes and continued to blush. "Where did you find that—that,"

"It's my 'uniform' isn't it?" Quinn accused. "A guy delivered it today and it had my name on it."

"Well, I did not order it; this is a huge misunderstanding," the brunette assured her, instinctively looking up, she lifted her hand to block everything but the housekeepers face. "Miss Fabray, I have to insist that you change into appropriate work attire. I have no idea where or how you got that costume, but I assure you it was not my idea."

Her mind was racing to come up with an explanation; she knew Quinn must have ordered the costume, but she couldn't say that to the blonde—it wouldn't make any sense. Rachel would need a good excuse and quick. Quinn remained in the doorway with her hazel eyes piercing the scientist with accusation and disgust; for all her wishing that the housekeeper would lose interest in her, Rachel found she couldn't quite bear the idea of Quinn hating her.

"No idea, huh?" Quinn snapped. "Then who was it? No one knows my new address but you yet."

"And the former housekeeper," the brunette squeaked, it was technically true. "We didn't part on the best of terms. She—she must have,"

"Sent it as a prank," the blonde finished for her. "That—that actually makes sense. The delivery boy seemed pretty chummy with her; if I was mad, I could see myself pulling something like this."

"They were friends," Rachel nodded, "from what I hear. I've never actually met the man."

Quinn let out a nervous laugh; she was beginning to blush as well and began struggling to cover her body. "I'm really not making the best first impression, am I?"

"Nonsense," the brunette assured her. "You had every right to be offended. I'm so sorry for the confusion."

"I'm sorry," the housekeeper mumbled. "I still shouldn't have just run in her like this, accusing you. I should have realized you were too nice to do anything like this."

"How could you have known?" Rachel shrugged, still finding it hard to keep her eyes from roving over Quinn's body.

She cleared her throat. "There is a long coat just inside the door—if you would like to,"

"Oh my god," the blonde gasped, "thank you."

The housekeeper scurried in quickly and snatched up the oversized trench coat and covered herself up. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. This would make things easier; now she could concentrate.

"It's practically your first time meeting me," she shrugged, "I cannot imagine what I would have thought were the roles reversed."

"I don't know; I just have a feeling about you." Quinn sighed. "I can tell you're something special. I don't know; I feel like I should have realized it wasn't your idea."

The blonde's kind words warmed Rachel's cheeks even more and she cleared her throat once again. "There was no way for you to have known. I'm merely sorry you were placed in that position at all."

Quinn fidgeted with the oversized coat. "Whose coat is this?"

"It was my father's, Hiram Berry," Rachel answered softly.

"I'll bring it right back, I just need to go change," the housekeeper promised as she slipped out of the room.

The brunette really did feel responsible for the situation; she should have been more thorough.

"Lunch is almost ready," Quinn said when she returned.

Rachel was disappointed to note that she found the girl every bit as alluring no matter how covered up she was. She nodded and took her father's coat from the girl and then gently hung it back up before following Quinn into the dining room. While she waited for the meal to begin, she found herself envying he blonde; she wished she could forget her feelings and desired so easily. Rachel pulled out her phone and sent a quick text; moments later, much sooner than she'd expected, she had her reply.

The housekeeper placed a warm plate of food in front of her before taking a seat at the other end of the table.

"You can have the rest of the day off," Rachel stated. "I have a meeting to go to."

"Ok, Professor Berry." Quinn nodded.

"When we are dining together, you may call me Rachel." She smiled. "There's no need to be so formal in your off hours. It smells wonderful."

"Thank you," the blonde smiled, "Rachel."

Rachel watched as Quinn disappeared into the greenhouse after lunch; she smiled to herself for a moment as she imagined how much LeRoy would have liked the girl. With another sigh, she turned and headed for the front door; sure enough, the familiar car was waiting and she climbed in without hesitation.

"You needed to see me?" the driver asked. "Something bad?"

"I would prefer not to discuss it here," Rachel insisted. "Could we go somewhere else please?"

He nodded and backed out of the driveway before turning the car towards the park.

"Is this fine?" the man asked once they pulled into to the public parking lot.

"It will do." She nodded as she opened the door. "Would you join me for a walk, Dr. Karofsky?"

The man sighed and shut off the engine; they walked in silence for a while as Rachel thought over exactly how to say what needed to be said. He was the only person she could talk to about Quinn; the only coworker from Del Monico Inc. that she kept in contact with after it shut down. Dave Karofsky very well might be the only friend she had in this world; it certainly felt like it, as odd as it was, and he'd always been there for her.

"What's going on, Rachel?" Dave finally broke the silence.

"I wanted to thank you again for helping Quinn and me," Rachel commented. "But I—I don't know what to do now."

"Did you—uh—reboot her again?" he asked.

"Yes," she sighed, "I can't find it. I've looked over the programming a million times and I cannot find where the mistake is."

"Well," Dave offered, "maybe it's not a mistake. Maybe that's just how Quinn is. Maybe—maybe she really likes you."

Rachel shook her head as she tugged out her laptop and handed it to him. "You have to look at it; perhaps you will see what I'm missing."

Dr. Karofsky shifted uneasily. "Geez, I—uh—look, you were always the smart one. If you can't find anything wrong, then there's nothing wrong."

"But there has to be!" the brunette snapped. "This is insanity. She can' t actually want me."

"She's not a machine, Rachel." He sighed. "She has her own personality, her own soul, and you can't reprogram that."

"But I can't bear it," she choked. "I can't bear for her to really—it has to be a mistake."

"Why is it so horrible that she likes you," Dave asked. "So someone has a crush on you—it's not the end of the world."

"It is, because," Professor Berry sniffled, "I find myself highly attracted to her myself."

"Well, that's great." He smiled, looking at her in confusion when she let out an exasperated sigh.

"It would be terrible to act upon my feelings given the situation, don't you see?" Rachel explained.

"How?" Dave asked.

The brunette threw up her hands. "Because she doesn't know—because I'd be lying to her."

Rachel sat down on a bench and covered her face in her hands; before long, she felt Dave gently, if not awkwardly, patting her on the back.

"Look, the way I see it," he mumbled, "you saved her. You're trying to keep her safe and make her life as normal as possible."

"I am," Rachel muttered.

"You want her to be happy," Dave shrugged, "so make her happy. If you like her and she likes you, then that's not a lie. If you're really trying to take care of her then stop worrying about what's 'right' and do what feels right for both of you."

Rachel looked up at him. "But—"

"You wanted my advice, right?" he insisted. "That's what I'm saying. You don't have to take it or anything, just consider it. If you want her to be normal then treat her like she's normal—she's probably more normal than you think."

"You always were the one with common sense." The brunette chuckled. "I suppose that's why you never fit in with most of our co-workers. You never simply looked at the facts; you were always delving into the unquantifiable, and it drove them all crazy."

He looked confused, but shrugged and smiled nonetheless. "Sure."

"I will try." Rachel nodded. "I will see where this goes."

"Good." Dave nodded. "So, are you ready to go back now?"

"Perhaps, just a few more minutes," she replied. "I have a lot to think about. Is that alright?"

Dr. Karofsky shrugged and leaned back on the bench. "Sure, take as long as you need."

* * *

_Three Months Later…_

Rachel's mind drifted in the hazy, blissful fog that comes with just waking up; she could feel the soft pressure of familiar lips against the back of her neck and she smiled. Quinn's arms were wound around her under the covers and the blonde grazed her palms over the brunette's breasts.

"Good morning." Rachel hummed.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up," Quinn whispered into the back of her neck. "I was about to give up, actually."

"Well, I'm very glad you didn't." She giggled as she rolled over to face the girl. "Why didn't you try to wake me more aggressively?"

"Because," the blonde paused to give her a quick kiss, "you were having a very naughty dream and it was giving me ideas."

The brunette blushed and giggled again. "You are making that up, I don't remember dreaming anything."

"Well, I remember you dreaming it," Quinn said seriously as she slipped a hand under Rachel's pajama top. "Your moaning woke me up; you were calling my name."

"Then it's a very good thing you were here," Rachel replied, taking in a sharp breath when the girl pinched her nipple gently.

Quinn's lips pressed softly against hers and Rachel pushed back the covers as she ran her hands down the girl's side, hiking the blonde's leg up and over her hip. It was her partner's turn to moan into her mouth as the brunette caressed the bare skin of the woman's buttocks and thighs. Her girlfriend had tried several times to convince her to sleep naked as well; she was beginning to think it was a wonderful idea despite possible emergencies.

Rachel broke off the kiss softly and trailed her lips across Quinn's cheek until she was nibbling on her earlobe.

"I love you," she whispered.

Quinn leaned up, adjusting herself slightly over her, and looked down with a mischievous smile.

"I love you, too," the blonde said before bringing their mouths together again into an even deeper kiss.

Before long, Quinn's hand began to drift downward as did her lips to Rachel's neck. She sucked hard at the brunette's pulse point as her nimble fingers traced achingly over her center. In turn, the brunette found her way eagerly to Quinn's inner thigh; Rachel smiled at the slick heat of her girlfriend as she slid a finger gently inside her. Soon, Quinn was inside her as well, her movements following a well-known path to pleasure. The brunette trembled, her free hand clung to the back of the blonde's neck, and she quickened her own movements as her body radiated with her building excitement.

"I love you," she gasped again, and Quinn's lips crashed into hers as the blonde's body jerked and clenched around her hand.

Rachel stared into her girlfriend's hazel eyes before her own warm brown ones rolled back as her body was flooded with a warm wave of ecstasy.

"Good morning." The blonde smiled once the brunette had caught her breath.

She didn't answer; instead, she snuggled against Quinn and let out a satisfied hum.

"It's getting late," her girlfriend groaned, "I should go make breakfast."

"What time is it?" Rachel mumbled, not really caring what time it was.

"Nine." Quinn sighed.

"Oh." The brunette tried to bolt up, but the blonde wouldn't let her go.

"I was thinking," her girlfriend hummed, "that we could get a shower together. Then I'd make breakfast while you try to catch up on your morning routine."

Rachel relaxed and smiled. "That sounds nice."

"Well then, let's get going." Quinn giggled as she pulled the brunette along with her.

"I'm so lucky to have you, Quinn." She beamed.

The blonde only smiled and continued to urge her towards the bathroom.

* * *

Quinn watched Rachel pick at her lunch across the table; her blonde eyebrows knit together as she tried to figure out what was bothering her girlfriend. The day had started out so well, but not long after the brunette had gone into her office to start the day, her mood had changed. Rachel had insisted that she was fine, but Quinn wasn't buying it; they might not have been dating long, but she knew something was wrong. She could feel it; she'd always felt like she knew the other woman for longer than she actually had. It was a hard feeling to explain, and she shuddered at the thought of calling it soul mates because that sounded so cheesy, naive, and cliché. Try as she might, though, the blonde couldn't shake the feeling that she knew Rachel; really knew her in a way that couldn't be explained—and she knew something was hurting her today.

"Rach." She sighed.

"I'm alright, Quinn." Rachel sighed back.

Quinn stood up and scooted her plate down the table as she switched seats to be closer. "Just tell me already, Rach, so I can make you feel better."

The brunette sighed and put down her fork; the woman slumped back in her chair.

"It's, well, it's my father's anniversary today." Rachel shrugged. "It shouldn't have any bearing on my behavior, but it does. They are gone—they're always gone—but for some reason once I remembered it—it's just all the more awful today."

Quinn rested her hand on her girlfriend's shoulder. "That's normal, Rachel; it's hard. I'm sorry."

The blonde wasn't good with family issues, but she needed to make Rachel feel better, so she swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Rachel tried to force a smile. "I suppose I do—I hardly know where to begin."

Quinn took her hand and waited.

"More than anything, I feel guilty," the brunette choked.

"What? No. Why?" She gasped. "You shouldn't feel guilty."

"Because I wanted to forget them," her girlfriend wheezed. "It hurt so bad, I couldn't bear it, and I simply wanted to forget everything. I actually took a job with a company because one of their other departments was working on memory isolation. I thought if they were successful then I could use the technology to—to."

"You were grieving," Quinn soothed. "Everyone handles it differently. Believe me, I've wanted to forget my family before and I'm pretty sure they're still alive. Everyone would like to forget the stuff from our past that made us sad. You didn't actually do it; you remember them."

"But I was so close." Rachel sighed. "I very nearly did it."

"And you didn't," the blonde pointed out.

"Yes," the brunette nodded, "then Del Monico Inc shut down and the rest, as they say, is history. If I'd gone through with it—it would have been like erasing them—like they died twice."

"But you didn't, Rachel," Quinn insisted. "Rach, you can't blame yourself for things you've thought about. If that were the case—well I wasn't the sweetest girl in the world before I met you."

"You are now, though." Rachel smiled, placing a soft kiss on the blonde's cheek. "Thank you."

"Maybe you should take the day off," the housekeeper suggested.

Professor Berry sniffled and shook her head. "No, no; I think it's best that I continue. I've fallen a little behind my normal output lately."

Quinn smiled. "And I guess I'm to blame for that—a little at least I hope."

"Nearly exclusively." Rachel smiled back. "You are a rather bad influence on me, Miss Fabray."

The blonde laughed and began clearing the dishes. "Well, if you do decide that you want to talk some more, you know where to find me."

"I've always like the idea of a bell system," the brunette teased. "I believe the house used to have one, but my dad had it removed—he said it was too pretentious—but I rather like the idea of being able to summon you whenever I want."

"You might have to pay me more if you expect me to come running at the ring of a bell." Quinn laughed back. "Before long you'll be expecting me to wear my uniform."

"You still have it?" Rachel gasped.

"Maybe." She shrugged.

The brunette blushed and Quinn watched as Rachel walked slowly down the hallway, casting curious looks back to her every few steps, and laughed to herself. When the door finally closed behind her girlfriend, the blonde began scrubbing the dishes quickly, hoping to finish quickly so she could distract the scientist a little more. Quinn wished that Rachel would take a day off; it was true that the brunette had scaled back her hours considerably since they began dating, but she had yet to not edit a few codes at least each day. It didn't seem healthy and it worried her; determination and resolve was one thing, but this seemed to be something more. Then again, perhaps the blonde was just being jealous.

The kitchen door swung open and she steeled herself for yet another bout of fighting off the new delivery boy. Quinn turned, her face already set in a hard expression, but it soon gave way to a wide smile.

"Long time no see." She gasped.

"Yeah." Dave smiled over the armload of groceries.

"I thought they fired you a month ago," Quinn commented. "And just when I had gotten over you helping to humiliate me with that uniform."

"I told you," the man groaned, "I never meant for that to happen. I didn't think you'd actually put it on; I was just…"

"I know." She laughed. "So what happened? Where have you been?"

Dave shifted uncomfortably. "Just, stuff."

"So, any news about a certain someone?" Quinn changed the subject.

"They're back together." He shrugged. "I guess I knew that would happen."

"I hated the guy they were sending while you were gone," the blonde commented. "He was always hitting on me."

"Sorry about that." Dave smirked. "Ya know, the truth is—they stopped sending me here because they thought I was being too buddy-buddy with you."

The man seemed to look past her for a second and flashed a cocky grin. "But I guess the guy they replaced me with was worse, so I'm back."

"Well, I'm glad." the blonde chuckled. "I don't think I could take much more of Puck, but I didn't know who to call about it."

She was able to unpack the groceries quickly; there wasn't much they had needed and Quinn had been scaling down the list to only the essentials so that the other delivery man would be in and out faster. The housekeeper simply felt ill at ease with him from the very start; the first time he arrived, he barely acknowledged her, but it didn't take long to for her to wish that had remained the case. The man's attitude changed a little with each visit and eventually escalated to open flirtation no matter how harshly she turned it down.

Quinn was very glad to see Dave return in Puck's place. The blonde didn't know him well, he had only stopped by a handful of times after her first day, but she always felt inexplicably comfortable with him. Something in his eyes gave her a feeling of instant trust.

"I'm sorry if I got you in trouble." Quinn shrugged after the last of the items were stored away.

"You didn't," he assured her. "But I should get going."

"Of course," the housekeeper nodded, "it was nice to see you again. See ya soon."

It was too soon to interrupt Rachel yet, so Quinn let herself out of the kitchen and decided to visit the greenhouse—perhaps a few flowers would cheer the brunette up. At any rate, the flowers always made the blonde feel more centered and happy. She stopped when she heard Dave's voice; from the patio, she could see him sitting in the car talking on his cell phone. The voice was on speaker and a woman's voice droned over the line. Quinn snuck closer.

"Well, I'm the one they want here," Dave was saying, "so what is there to complain about?"

"My complaint is with your snide attitude," the voice retorted. "I never wanted you for this position in the first place and you are on very thin ice. Do not think for a moment that the fact that they prefer you makes you invincible Mr. Karofsky. Do your work and only that; you are not to interfere or intervene."

"I like when he interferes," Quinn snapped loudly, causing Dave to jump. "And if you even think of sending us anyone else, I'll fire you."

The man looked absolutely panicked and he waved her away from the car.

"I'll take that into consideration," the woman responded lightly—it didn't sound convincing to Quinn.

Before she could say more, Dave shot her a smile and backed out of the driveway; Quinn hopped she hadn't just made things worse.

* * *

_One Year Later…_

"Well, that is another progress report done with," Rachel chimed as she walked into the living room.

"And did they answer you yet?" Quinn asked seriously.

The brunette sighed and shook her head slightly, taking a seat next to the blonde tiredly.

"They can't really just not tell you; that's bullshit," her girlfriend huffed, "considering they're practically wasting you."

"I can't very well demand that they disclose that." The scientist shrugged.

Quinn locked eyes with her. "It kills me that they just ignore you every time you ask—and I meant what I said. You're smarter than what they have you doing, Rach; they're practically giving you busy work. They used to let you work on whatever you wanted and now they're sending you assignments."

"I know," Rachel nodded, "but I'm still able to work on my own things."

"I'll say it again: you should get a new job," the blonde insisted. "You're better than this."

The brunette blushed and leaned in for a soft kiss. "You're too good for me."

"Oh, I know," Quinn teased, "but the pay is good."

Rachel gasped even though she knew it was merely a joke, and put on her best pout. The blonde laughed and pulled her closer.

"So, if you ask them for a vacation," Quinn asked, "will they answer you back on that?"

"I believe so." She smiled.

"So, can I finally plan something fun for us to do outside the house? Maybe even out of town?" her girlfriend tested.

Rachel shrugged and then nodded; she didn't love the idea of leaving town—or even really leaving her home. She remembered when she was younger she'd wanted to go to far off, exotic locations and on fantastical vacations to the big cities, but something had changed after she started working. Still, it was clear that Quinn wanted to go, and her excitement spurred something in the scientist that had been long forgotten.

"You plan it," she agreed, "and I will notify the company that I will be taking a short hiatus."

Quinn rewarded her with a deeper kiss and Rachel let herself melt into the other girl's embrace. The past year had been wonderful; she had almost forgotten what it felt like to have a friend, and a lover. Now she felt that she had the best of both worlds; Quinn was so deeply engrained into her life that the brunette couldn't imagine her days without her. It was more than attraction; the giddy first steps that lead to tumbling into love had been exhilarating, but this was better than that—it was steady and warm. After the roller-coaster ride of falling in love, it was more rewarding than she ever could have imagined, feeling the solid base of their relationship firmly under them.

"I'll plan it first thing tomorrow," Quinn announced.

* * *

Rachel stretched and rolled over, her tanned arms searching the bed for her girlfriend. She frowned when she found Quinn's side of the bed cold and she squinted at the clock. It was five in the morning and her eyebrows knit together; usually she had to force the blonde out of bed a good hour after her own routine had begun. The brunette had a queasy feeling in her stomach that something was wrong, but she chastised herself for being over dramatic. Rachel turned off the alarm and climbed out of bed; she tied the belt of her robe as she padded her way down the stairs and to the kitchen, which is where she usually found Quinn in the mornings. She almost thought about checking the greenhouse, but thought it best to investigate the front room first; perhaps the blonde couldn't sleep and was watching TV, though there was no noise coming from the room, and had fallen asleep on the couch. Rachel sighed when she flicked on the lights to find that room empty and she flipped them back off quickly. Perhaps she should call Quinn. As she turned to head upstairs to retrieve her phone, she noticed the light was on in her office; Rachel tilted her head and slowly opened the door.

"Quinn?" she called as she stepped in.

There was no answer, but when she entered the room to turn off the light, she saw her girlfriend sitting at the desk, her hazel eyes darting back and forth across the screen.

"Quinn," Rachel stammered. "What are you doing down here? It is five in the morning."

The blonde looked at her as though she was a stranger and Rachel's blood ran cold.

"What is the matter? What happened?" she asked nervously.

"I came down to plan our vacation," Quinn finally spoke.

Her voice was cold and hollow and the brunette felt rooted in place; her eyes looked so angry and tired and something told the scientist that something was terribly wrong.

"But one of your programs was running so I wanted to save it before I went online," Quinn continued. "I know how important your work is to you. How much you love it."

"I appreciate that," Rachel rasped before the blonde cut her off.

"It's a very interesting file. Quinn_Function_ControlD," the woman said emotionlessly.

Her legs were instantly shaking; she didn't remember leaving the file open—how could she have made such a monumental mistake. Quinn stood up quickly and Rachel jumped; the blonde arched her eyebrow at her for a moment, her hazel eye all but shooting barbs of ice into her, before she began to slowly walk past her.

"Quinn," Rachel gasped, finally forcing herself to move as she reached out and grabbed the woman's hand. "It's not what it seems. It's not what you think."

"It's sick," the blonde snapped, trying to yank her arm away. "What is it? What am I?"

"You're Quinn," the brunette assured her. "It's hard to explain."

"No, you know what? I don't think it is," Quinn snapped. "You're brilliant enough to build yourself a little love slave."

"Please, just let me explain this," Rachel pleaded. "I didn't build a love slave. You're you—you are completely yourself."

"Am I?" the woman accused. "I'm really me? How do you know? Would I love you?"

The last question hurt worst; after all the work Rachel had done to try to undo Quinn's flirtation with her, she had felt secure in the fact that Quinn did, in fact, love her. The blonde, obviously, couldn't imagine that as a naturally occurring option.

"Please sit down; I'll tell you everything," the brunette choked.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Do I have a choice? Is there a function in here that will keep me from disobeying you?"

"No, there is not," she said honestly as she let go of Quinn's arm. "But I wish that you would allow me to explain because, while it is in no way simple, there is a reasonable explanation and I want to prove to you unequivocally that I am not controlling you—I'm protecting you."

"Oh I see," the blonde sighed as she crossed her arms and took a seat, "this should be interesting."

Rachel sat down on the ottoman across from Quinn and struggled to collect her thoughts and emotions; this was exactly what she had been afraid of, but it was true. Her girlfriend deserved to know the truth. She should have the right decide for herself after that if she loved Rachel or not any longer.

"So, you were going to explain what I am and why you turned me into a…"

"I did not turn you into anything." Rachel groaned. "As you know, when my fathers died, I became obsessed with forgetting. I wanted to erase them from my memory, so I would never have to deal with the pain of losing them. I suppose that is normal and everything feels that way, but, being in the scientific field, I knew it was actually more possible than it sounds. So I took a job working with Del Monico Inc; they were pioneering very experimental techniques and I was convinced that with my efforts added to their collaborations, the technology would be ready for human testing quickly. Needless to say, by the time we had developed a safe and effective procedure, I no longer desired to go through with it myself personally. I stayed on because the work we were doing was so advanced and cutting edge—it was thrilling."

Quinn seemed to only be half listening.

"Then they arrived with you." That seemed to snap her into attention, though the blonde still refused to look her in the eye. "When they brought you in, you were subject 0028561.26 QU. You had been in a wreck, you had low brain activity, and it appeared that you would never walk again. Your family had been considering pulling the plug, but my employers knew people at the hospital. As far as your family is concerned, the hospital followed their wishes. We did extensive work with you, bypassing the damage and re-wiring, in a manner of speaking, to let your brain continue to communicate with your entire body. I can say without any hesitation that it was the most meaningful work I have ever done—actually helping to develop something that could make paralysis something of the past."

"I don't remember being in any big wreck," Quinn commented. "I remember a fender bender once and that was enough to keep me from ever texting and driving again."

"We gave you that," Rachel admitted. "At the time, I didn't see that there could be anything wrong with removing one memory that would be blindingly painful in order to aid your recovery, but then they wanted to continue the experiments. We had been experimenting with joining artificial intelligence to an existing consciousness. It had worked on rats and monkeys and they wanted to continue their efforts on a human subject—on you. I thought they were going too far; you had already been through so much and I wanted to simply release you. I was right; they were taking things too far. The entire company was shut down and they order all the tech, files, and specimens destroyed."

"But I'm here." Quinn pointed out.

"I couldn't let that happen!" Rachel exclaimed. "You weren't a robot or a monkey. You were real; you were a person. A wonderful person. So one of me colleagues helped me secret you out and I took my job with Rossum."

"And repurposed me into a maid—that's in love with you," the blonde questioned.

"I didn't do that," the brunette insisted. "I did not make you love me. Believe me, at the beginning I searched the code for hours on end; I thought that perhaps one of the other programmers had tampered with the code without me knowing for some perverse joke, but there is nothing there. You can look yourself; you understand code well enough and that wasn't programmed in either, so I can only assume that you must have been studying it or worked in the field yourself before the accident. But I did not make you love me, I swear it."

Quinn arched an eyebrow at her and hurried back over to the computer; Rachel waited on pins and needles as the woman studied the code several times over. She had told her everything she knew and now there was nothing to do but wait. She was finally free to let the long held tears fall. Nearly half an hour later, the blonde leaned back and covered her face.

"Please say something," Rachel pleaded.

"I don't know what to say." Quinn sighed.

"I love you so much, Quinn," she choked. "I-I don't know what I would do if."

"I love you," the blonde blurted out. "I just—it's a lot—I need to think."

"I understand." Rachel sighed. "I-I could move to the guest room if…"

Quinn nodded and let her eyes sweep the screen once again. "You programmed vegan recipes, but you didn't make me vegan."

"Of course not," she shrugged, "that is a personal choice. I couldn't make that decision for you; it wouldn't have been right."

Rachel turned to leave the room; despite the horrible, sick feeling in her stomach; she knew this had gone better than she'd had a right to expect. The scientist knew she should have told Quinn the whole truth long ago, but things had been so wonderful. She'd convinced herself that as long as they were happy, it didn't matter.

"Rach," Quinn's voice trembled.

"Yes?"

"I don't want to sleep alone tonight," the blonde whispered. "This is—it's a lot to take in. Don't move out of our room, ok?"

The brunette smiled through her tears. "Alright."

Before either of them could say any more, the door burst open.

"Dr. Karofsky," she pitched. "What are you…"

"Come with me, both of you," Dave gasped.

"Dr. Karofsky?" Quinn said skeptically.

Rachel wheeled around. "Quinn? How do you know this man?"

"We don't have time for this." He wheezed, grabbing Rachel by the arm. "We have to go."

"He delivers groceries twice a week," the housekeeper mumbled. "I don't think he's a doctor."

"You deliver our groceries?" the brunette puzzled.

"Please, we have to go." Dave groaned. "I'll explain it all later, but we have to go now."

Rachel crossed her arms. "We will do no such thing until you have thoroughly explained yourself."

"Do you trust me?" he asked as she locked eyes with her.

"I…" she paused before huffing. "Well yes, of course I do."

"Quinn," Dave turned to ask as well, "do you trust me."

The blonde seemed to fight it but quickly nodded. "Yeah."

"Then let me explain later," Dave begged as he took both their hands and led the out of the room.

Rachel followed Quinn into the back seat and buckled her seatbelt as Dave lay down on the gas. Her hand found its way quickly to Quinn's and she squeezed tight. She couldn't help but know, when she looked into the woman's hazel eyes, that everything was going to be alright as long as they were together.

"I'll explain once we stop for the night; we just need to get as far away from that place as possible," he called back to them.  
"My house?" Rachel asked.

"That's not your home," Dave said sourly before turning his attention back to the road.

* * *

Quinn rolled over groggily in bed; her arms instinctively searched the empty half of the bed before she could even wonder why. With a sigh, she slapped the snooze button and forced herself to sit up. She really should be downstairs already, but she hadn't slept well at all. The blonde heard clattering from below and knew it was time to get moving; she turned off the alarm and got dressed quickly.

"Professor Fabray," the brunette gasped when the scientist sauntered into the kitchen. "I'm sorry; did I wake you? I must be making quite a racket down there. You know how it is—new surrounding and all. I haven't managed to memorize my way around just yet."

"It's your fist day," Quinn shrugged, "it's a big house; I wouldn't expect you to know your way around yet, Miss Berry."

The blonde knew she'd helped her new housekeeper move in yesterday, but seeing her now, it felt like she was seeing Rachel for the first time, but not quite. There was something so familiar about the woman; she didn't seem at all like the stranger that she technically was.

"Well, I've studied the layout thoroughly, so I shouldn't bother you much today," Rachel assured her. "At least, it is my intention not to make a nuisance of myself while you work."

The brunette sat a hearty bowl of oatmeal in front of her and Quinn gazed up into Rachel's eyes.

"Don't worry about bothering me," she breathed, "if you need anything just come ask."

Quinn felt lost in the woman's warm brown eyes; without thinking she reached out and tugged Rachel closer to her, grazing their lips together. Despite how crazy it felt to do so, it also felt natural, and the housekeeper didn't pull away or stiffen. Rachel merely returned the kiss and rested her head on the blonde's shoulder.

A few rooms away, a woman squinted at a wall of monitors with her arms crossed as her face set in a look of aggravation. "Interesting…"

"Hot…" one of her colleagues chimed in.

"Unexpected is more like it, Mr. Abrams," she snapped. "And not part of the program you detailed to me."

"I thought if we switched the roles and codes then maybe…" Mr. Abrams defended.

"Roles, programs, codes," another man interrupted. "You might as well have changed their nail-polish. I told you this tech needs a clean slate; you have to wipe the whole personality—you can't piggy-back it."

The woman pressed a button and spoke dryly,"Intervene, please, and politely, Mr. Puckerman; I get very weary of your frat-boy antics."

"So," Mr. Abrams sighed nervously, "what now?"

"We do a full wipe, I suppose, as Mr. Brink suggests." The woman shrugged.

"See now, that's not going to work with them," Mr. Brink chimed in. "The tech you've got in their heads now is just going to be in the way and not to be rude, but—I can show you the process, but he's not going to able to handle it. It takes finesse."

Before Artie could respond, the woman stepped in. "Then we've done what we can with these two; congratulations, Mr. Abrams, you'll have your heart's desire soon."

The man in the wheelchair glanced towards the screens and smiled as Miss DeWitt addressed the other man. "You'll be taking over in Mr. Abrams stead."

"I can't work with these two," he clarified.

"Not to worry, Mr. Brink," she assured him. "I have a fresh mind for you to demonstrate your abilities on—their former handler. I'd appreciate a list of necessities from you; this old house isn't going to be large or secure enough for our needs, but a new one is being constructed."

"And him?" Topher asked.

"Mr. Abrams has done his part, and he's being rewarded with the same procedure that had made our lovely Miss Fabray's walking possible." Miss DeWitt smiled. "Once he has removed their superfluous programming."

"And what does happen to Miss Fabray and Miss Berry?" he asked. "And please tell me it involves more cameras."

"They have no real knowledge of what's happened; Miss Berry volunteered, though she no longer desires her original deal, but her actual knowledge of Rossum's inner workings is minimal at best," she said. "As for Miss Fabray, I have a feeling she's about to have a miraculous recovery at the hospital."

* * *

_One Year Later…_

Rachel stepped outside and took a deep breath; she was half way through her first semester teaching Theoretical Neuroscience. She stood at the bus stop and waited for her ride home. All in all, it was shaping up to be a good year; many of her students were bright. Her wait was usually lonely before getting onto a crowded bus full of strangers. So when a lovely blonde took a seat next to her at the bus stop, Rachel was pleased.

"Hello," she chimed, hoping she didn't sound too excited.

"Hello." The woman smiled back.

"My name is Rachel, Rachel Berry," the brunette chatted. "I'm a Professor here."

"Quinn—Fabray," the blonde responded. "So I guess I have you to thank for some of my business?"

"How so?" Rachel stammered.

"I'm a tutor." Quinn chuckled.

"Oh." She blushed. "I'm sorry, you seem familiar somehow. Have we met?"

The woman's hazel eyes searched her own and she shrugged. "I don't think so, but I'm here most days, so who knows. I've seen you around; you've probably seen me."

Rachel found herself disappointed when the bus came into view; she sighed as she stood up and looked down to see the blonde still sitting.

"Aren't you getting on?" Rachel asked.

"Oh, no," Quinn smiled up at her, "I don't ride the bus—I just wanted to meet you."

The brunette smiled and blushed. "Oh."

"I have a car," the woman continued. "If you're sick of riding the bus, I mean."

Rachel bit her lower lip and stepped back from the vehicle, waving the bus on, and Quinn smirked. "That sounds nice."

* * *

**You'll notice there is no poll up; I'll be taking a hiatus for a while. Landings won the last poll and I will work on it as I can. If you are still interested in Professions then keep this on alert and I'll update with Landings when I am ready to end my break. I've really enjoyed working on this and really appreciate all the positive and helpful feedback I've received and want to continue.  
**

**See tumblr for more info & updates. Reviews are always welcome - even when I'm on hiatus. ;)**


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